


you weren't supposed to die (before I could kiss you)

by DobbyRocksSocks



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 19 years later, Canon-Typical Violence, Deathly Hallows replacement, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, Draco is so done with Harry's shit, Even though he barely features here, Eventual Happy Ending, Harry is an idiot, Horcruxes, I saved Fred for reasons, M/M, Minor Character Death, No Bashing, See AN, So much friendship here, Sort of Good Lucius?, The slowest of slow-burn, Very similar in places, but we knew that, camping trip, injuries, slow-burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:55:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22758139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DobbyRocksSocks/pseuds/DobbyRocksSocks
Summary: With no other choice, Draco runs to Harry, Ron and Hermione for help. What follows is cross country camping, Horcruxes, and maybe even a bit of bonding. Draco's just scared Harry is going to make his hair turn grey. A retelling of Deathly Hallows, with Draco along for the ride. Warning for bad language, and canon like violence.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 11
Kudos: 355





	you weren't supposed to die (before I could kiss you)

**Author's Note:**

> There are parts of this that run very closely to the actual book, so I’d like to reiterate that anything you recognise is not mine. Also, there’s a mixture of book canon and movie canon, as well as obv AU.

Harry’s wand was in his hand before he’d fully recognised the disturbance at the door, and he was on his feet in an instant, Ron and Hermione at his back. When the dust cloud of the alarm spell cleared, Harry was shocked to his core to find himself face to face with Draco Malfoy. 

He raised his wand immediately and disarmed Malfoy, not taking any chances. He stepped forward and pressed the tip of his wand under the blond’s chin. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice low and threatening. His rage at seeing his former classmate was derailed by the mess the blond man was in. Dried blood caked his skin, his hair was streaked red. He was trembling where he stood, though he was clearly attempting his usual haughty expression. 

Harry’s hand didn’t move while he waited for Malfoy to answer. 

“I… I had nowhere else to go. Please… just… don’t kill me.” 

Unsure of what to do, Harry turned to Hermione and Ron, looking for their opinions. This wasn’t… he hadn’t expected this, not in his wildest dreams, and faced with it, he didn’t know quite what he was supposed to do. 

“We need to help him,” Hermione murmured. “He’s… pretty badly injured, Harry.” 

Ron scowled, but didn’t refute her words, and Harry turned back to Malfoy, narrowing his eyes. He _knew_ that this could be a trap, knew that the likelihood of it being a trap was much larger than Malfoy truly wanting their help, but he couldn’t… if it wasn’t a trap, he’d be just as bad as Voldemort if he threw Malfoy out. 

“If this is a trap, Malfoy, I _will_ kill you,” he murmured quietly, before he lowered his wand and stepped back and out of the way, gesturing for Malfoy to precede him into the lounge. 

… 

Malfoy let Hermione heal him as best she could. He sat pliant to her instruction, and accepted the water Harry fetched him with a grateful look in his eyes. 

When Hermione had done all that she could, the three of them took seats and all sat watching Malfoy carefully. 

“Explain,” Harry ordered, his wand held in his lap, just in case. 

“They… they killed…” Malfoy shook his head, his eyes welling with tears. “They killed my mother, because of my… because I couldn’t…” 

“Because you couldn’t kill Dumbledore,” Harry filled in quietly. “I… I’m sorry about your mum.” 

Malfoy swallowed hard and nodded, taking a sip of water before he continued. 

“I wanted to leave right then, but I didn’t know how to and…” he shook his head. “They were watching me so closely, I didn’t dare move a muscle that I wasn’t ordered to.” 

Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione to see them watching Malfoy. On Hermione’s face, a look of sympathy and something close to pity, and on Ron’s, suspicion that was lessening with every word Malfoy spoke. 

“They were going to… because my father failed to do… something, I don’t know what. I escaped, and I didn’t have anywhere else to go, but I knew there was a possibility you were here, because they’ve been guarding outside, you know? I heard them talking about it. So I hoped… I know you have no reason to trust me, or to help me, but… _they killed my mother.”_ He shook his head. “I think he was going to kill me. I can’t stay there. I can’t… I won’t support the man who murdered my mother.” 

Harry exchanged a look with Hermione, who nodded slightly, and then turned to look at Ron. He met the blue eyes of his best friend and asked the silent question. 

Ron was tense for a long moment, before he sat back in his seat. “Fuck it. We’re going to die anyway. Welcome to the team, I guess.” 

… 

Having Malfoy at Grimmauld Place was… strange. Awkward silences became normal, although Hermione tried her best to include him in conversations. Harry was wary of giving him any information he could use against them, particularly about the Horcruxes, or even the existence of them. 

Of course, that wasn’t easy, since they had no choice but to discuss them in the hopes of finding them. 

Draco tended to stick to the library or the room Harry had offered him in the evenings though, which made things slightly easier. Hermione and Ron had moved into the room Ron and Harry had shared once upon a time. 

Harry had tried Sirius’ room, but he’d barely managed one night before he realised he couldn’t stay there. Not that he was sleeping a lot anyway. Most of his sleep came from hour long naps on the sofa, or half an hour curled up in an armchair, clutching a book to his chest. 

It was on one such sleepless night that he saw movement by the door. When he looked properly, he saw it was Malfoy, sleep rumpled and unsure of his welcome. 

“I don’t bite,” Harry murmured, his voice carrying in the silence of the night. 

Malfoy entered the room, curling up at the end of the sofa, his arms around his legs. He appeared to be trying to make himself as small as he possibly could. 

“Nightmare?” Harry asked. 

Malfoy nodded once, his head stiff as though he expected Harry to tease him for it. 

“You don’t have to, but I’m willing to listen if you want to talk about it,” Harry offered after a brief pause. “Merlin knows we all have nightmares.”

“I… don’t want to talk about it. But. Thank you. For offering. I know it can’t be easy for you to have me here.” 

Harry nodded slowly. “It’s not, but… it’s getting easier. You’re not so bad, when you’re not being a prat.” 

Malfoy snorted. “Back at you, Potter.” 

… 

That started something of a new tradition. Four or five nights a week, Malfoy would quietly find his way into the living room. He’d always curl up in the corner of the sofa, his limbs held tightly together. 

Sometimes, Harry would engage him in conversation about something unimportant, like Quidditch, or a book he’d read in the library. Safe subjects that weren’t likely to devolve into arguments, name calling, or spells being thrown. 

Other nights, they’d sit together in silence. 

Slowly, the silences became less awkward. 

Slowly, Malfoy became Draco. Harry remained Potter, but it was said with a strange fondness that Harry couldn’t bring himself to complain about it. 

Slowly, the subjects got more personal. 

Draco told Harry of growing up in Malfoy Manor, of the library there and the hours he’d spent in it, pouring over the books. He spoke of the loneliness of growing up with busy parents, of how much time he’d spend either on his own or with the company of the house-elf tasked with caring for him. 

Harry told Draco of growing up in a cupboard, not knowing he was a wizard. He made Draco chuckle with tales of his childhood accidental magic, and was gratified when Draco got angry on his behalf when he told of thinking that his parents had died in a car crash. 

Another thing they started to share was hot chocolate. Harry was loath to wake Kreacher in the night to make them a drink, and so, he taught Draco how to make it instead. They’d take it in turns to bustle around the kitchen, and in the mornings, take it in turn to be told off by the elf, who was practically affronted that anyone dared work in _his_ kitchen. 

Laughing over Draco’s complete lack of cooking ability made the nightmares that much easier to bear, and the chocolate didn’t hurt either. 

As the days, and perhaps more importantly, the nights passed, Harry started to trust that Draco was actually with them for the long haul. 

And so, going against Dumbledore’s orders, Harry told him the truth. 

...

“Horcruxes. Really. Horcruxes as in _plural?”_

Harry nodded, understanding the disgust on Malfoy’s face, because he’d felt much the same way himself when he realised what it actually meant to have multiple Horcruxes. 

“Merlin fuck.” 

Ron snorted. “Accurate.” 

“And you know where one of them is?” 

Harry nodded. “We do. Not that it helps much really. We’re going to have to break into the Ministry, and that didn’t go well the first time, so we already know it’s probably going to end badly.” 

Malfoy stared at the three of them in amazement. “I love how you just casually referenced that you’re going to _break into the Ministry._ Like it’s a _normal_ thing to do.” 

Hermione snorted. “We’re friends with Harry Potter. It _is_ a normal thing to do.” 

“What the hell am I doing here?” Malfoy asked, shaking his head. “You’re more likely to get me killed than staying with… them.”

Harry nodded. “Probably.”

…

As predicted, getting into the Ministry had been the easy part. Getting _out_ of the Ministry was another thing entirely. Harry gripped Draco’s hand tightly as they ran, determined that they wouldn’t get separated. 

With his other hand, he sent spells over his shoulder at those pursuing them. They were so close to being free and clear, the locket secure around Harry’s neck. Just a few more steps. They could do this. 

Except a Death Eater gripped Hermione as they Apparated out, and suddenly they were in the middle of nowhere with a bleeding Ron and an apologetic Hermione and Harry didn’t quite know what to say. 

He stood silently as Hermione applied dittany to Ron’s wounds, while Malfoy cast protective wards around them. Harry saw the grateful look Hermione sent Draco’s way. 

“Set the tent up, Harry,” Hermione said, checking over Ron carefully. 

“Tent?” 

“In the bag.” 

“Of course it is,” Harry muttered, leaning into the bag. He pulled the tent out, shaking his head at just how prepared Hermione was. He lost himself in setting the tent up, barely listening to the quiet conversation of the others. 

They’d got the locket, but in doing so, they’d lost their safe haven. Being out in the open, no matter the protective wards, added another layer of pressure for Harry to finish this quickly before his friends got injured or too exhausted. 

“Did you get it, Harry?” 

Harry blinked, turning to look at Ron. “Get what?” 

“Did you hit your head?” Ron asked. “The locket!” 

“Oh. Yeah, yeah, we got it.” 

Ron nodded. “At least it was worth it then.” 

Harry wasn’t sure he agreed with that, but he just smiled at his best friend. The look Draco gave him told Harry that maybe the blond understood how he was feeling.

… 

Living in a tent, despite it being a magical tent, wasn’t easy. There was nowhere to go to just be alone for a minute, people were constantly underfoot. Muttered apologies and biting of lips quickly became commonplace. 

They moved often, and Harry looked forward to the moving days, because at least it was something to do. 

There were only so many times they could reiterate the information they knew before Harry just wanted to find the nearest wall to bang his head against. 

Sleep also became a thing of the past. At Grimmauld Place, Harry had at least been able to relax enough to nap, had rested even if he hadn’t been able to enjoy a deep sleep. In the tent, with the noises of the outside penetrating, and the noises of the others shifting in their own beds, suffering nightmares of their own, Harry had no chance. 

He went days in between, until he literally couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. Hermione was worried about him, he knew, but it wasn’t like this was his choice. If he _could_ sleep more, he absolutely _would._

Ron and Hermione were quiet, but they were leaning heavily on each other. Every day, there would be a new sign of the growing closeness between them, and Harry was happy for them, he really was. 

The sparks of jealousy he felt were quickly pushed away, because beyond anything else in his life, Harry wanted them to be happy. It was all the better if they were happy with each other. 

Ron was healing slowly, but every day he felt a little better, which Harry was grateful for. Everytime he looked at Ron’s arm, bandaged and in a sling, he felt a well of guilt rise, threatening to overwhelm him. 

Draco had withdrawn into himself even more. He spent hours at a time curled up on his bunk, a book in his hand. Harry was fairly sure he must have read all the books Hermione had brought with her, but he continued to read regardless. 

Oddly, Harry found himself most comfortable sitting in silence with Draco. At least then, he wasn’t obligated to make conversation. Draco wanted to talk about as much as Harry did, and it worked out well, whereas Ron and Hermione seemed to want to fill the silence as much as they could. 

Sitting in the tent opening, his wand in his lap, Harry looked up at the moon. He had no idea where they were supposed to go next. Had no idea what he was supposed to do, and honestly, he didn’t know if this mission was ever going to be completed. 

He was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

They were tiring, no matter the many hours spent doing nothing. It was a matter of time, and one of them would make a mistake. They all knew it. 

Harry sighed and let his head fall to the side against the canvas. 

… 

“Harry!” 

Harry opened his eyes, his scar throbbing. He’d passed out against the side of the tent; had slid sideways until he was sprawled on the ground. He found himself looking up into the concerned eyes of Hermione. 

“Dream,” he muttered, sitting up and rubbing at his head. 

“Don’t lie,” she replied, arching her eyebrow at him. “You had a vision. You’re supposed to be pushing him out, Harry!” 

“It’s not like I intended to see it, Hermione,” Harry growled back. His head was aching, and he was trying to cling onto the details of what he’d seen, sure it was important, even if he didn’t know why yet. 

“You should go inside, Harry. I’ll finish the watch.” 

Harry shook his head. “Don’t do that, Hermione. I’m perfectly capable of finishing the watch and you know I am.” 

Hermione deflated and she flopped down beside him. “I know, I know, I’m sorry. I just…” 

“I get it.” 

Ron and Draco joined them in the tent opening, and Hermione cast her flame spell, containing them in a jar. The fire offered a little bit of warmth, and she draped a blanket around Harry’s shoulders too. 

It was only then he noticed he was shaking. 

“Vol-” 

“Can we not,” Draco muttered, rubbing his head. “There was talk of putting a taboo on the name and just… can we not?” 

Harry stared at him for a long moment. “That’s… actually clever. Only people strongly against him say the name.” 

Hermione nodded. “Of course. Tottenham Court. They found us in the cafe, didn’t they? And we didn’t know how that—” 

“Yeah. Okay, no saying the name,” Harry agreed. “He’s found Gregorovitch. He had him tied up, he was torturing him.” 

Draco frowned. “I thought you said he was after a new wand?” 

“Yeah, I… why else would he need a wand maker?” 

Harry rubbed his temple, thinking over the vision. “He didn’t ask about a new wand, didn’t mention the twin cores or what happened. He… he wanted something, but I think… Gregorovitch said it’d been stolen. He… You-Know-Who read his mind and there was a guy, not much older than us I think, jumping out of a window. I… I think I’ve seen him but I’m not sure.” 

The others sat in silence for a long moment, all thinking, before Ron finally broke it. 

“You don’t think he’s looking for something else to make into a Horcrux, do you?” 

“I… have no idea,” Harry admitted. “But I doubt it. Surely it’d be dangerous if he made another. He’s already pushed his soul to limits nobody else ever has.” 

“Maybe… maybe he doesn’t know that though,” Ron suggested, biting his lip. 

Harry nodded tiredly. “Maybe.” 

He’d been so sure that the wandmaker connection was about the twin cores, and now it was just another thing to add to the list of things he didn’t know enough about. 

Hermione and Ron fell into a quiet discussion about the possibility of Voldemort making a new Horcrux and the possible ramifications of that. Harry paid little attention, going over the vision once more in his mind. His scar was still prickling painfully, and he rubbed at his temple again. 

“Are you alright?” 

Harry blinked and then looked at Draco. The blond was watching him with concern. 

“I’m fine,” Harry replied, almost automatically. 

Draco looked unimpressed. 

Hermione shivered, drawing Harry’s attention. “Go back inside,” he urged, nodding to the main part of the tent. “Honestly, I’m okay. I’ll stay awake.” 

She stared at him for a long moment before she nodded. “Call for one of us if you need a break, okay?” 

“Promise,” he agreed. 

She and Ron immediately stood and returned to the warmth, but Draco remained at Harry’s side. 

He was close enough that Harry could feel his body heat, and he swayed towards him slightly. 

Draco visibly hesitated before he lifted his hand to tug on Harry’s arm, pulling him down until he was sprawled half in Draco’s lap. 

“What—” 

“Shut up, Potter.” 

Draco’s hand lifted to Harry’s temple, and he massaged gently. Harry groaned involuntarily. It felt _amazing._

“You’re good at that,” he murmured sleepily. “But I’m going to fall asleep if you carry on so you should probably stop.” 

“I’ll keep watch,” Draco replied simply. “Sleep, Potter.” 

“Why are you being so nice?” Harry asked, blinking up at Draco. 

“Maybe I don’t want to be the bad guy anymore,” Draco suggested quietly. “Or maybe I’m sick of watching you look like you’re about to keel over with exhaustion.” 

Harry snorted. He thought about replying, but before he could think of something to say, he was fast asleep. 

… 

Things shifted after that night. 

Every few days, Draco would find Harry and tug him into his lap, massaging his head until he went to sleep. He’d sit with Harry at night more often, just as they had in Grimmauld Place, their shoulders brushing together, knees knocking when they moved. 

Harry was surprised how much he’d missed it. 

They even talked more, hushed whispers in the darkness so as not to wake Ron and Hermione. 

“When I heard about _His_ revival, at first, I thought it was great. My father would be powerful, and I could ride on his name. Stupid now that I look back at it but—” 

“You were brought up to think a certain way,” Harry said gently. “And you didn’t know any different, at least not for a while. Will I ever excuse some of your behaviour? No, you were a prat.” 

Draco rolled his eyes. 

“But do I think you can change? You already have, Draco. Look at where you are.” 

“I was so… prideful about taking the mark,” Draco murmured, pulling his sleeve up. “Now it’s just a reminder of how stupid I was.” 

“Mistakes aren’t the end of the world,” Harry said after a moment. “It’s how you deal with the consequences that show who you truly are.” 

Draco’s eyes widened and he stared at Harry for a long moment. Harry took it as a win when Draco looked away with a small smile and a light pink tint to his pale cheeks. 

… 

They sat around the table, Harry, Hermione and Draco, quietly discussing possible hiding places for the missing Horcruxes. Ron hadn’t joined them, choosing instead to stalk around the tent like a caged tiger. 

“I still reckon he might have hidden something at Hogwarts,” Harry said, reiterating a point he’d made many times. 

“Dumbledore would have found it, Harry,” Hermione replied, throwing her hands up, exasperated. 

Ron kicked a chair, breaking the leg with a snap and making them all jump. He’d been in a foul mood for days, not helped at all by the locket around his neck. Harry had offered to take it, only to be snapped at. 

“I’m fucking starving!” Ron snarled, when he noticed them all looking at him. 

Harry sighed. He knew the lack of food wasn’t making any of them particularly happy, but Ron was suffering the most. Having never had to go without, he was struggling. Harry had expected Draco to be the same, but the only outward sign that Draco was suffering was him being even quieter than usual. 

Hermione was holding up fairly well, her temper fraying quicker but she was holding herself together. 

Not knowing what to say to soothe Ron, Harry continued his point. “If there was one place You-Know-Who considered home, it was Hogwarts. Hogwarts was the first proof he had that he was special.” 

“His school?” Ron scoffed. “Really?” 

“Yeah, his school,” Harry snapped. “Even after he left, he wanted to go back and—” 

“Are you sure we’re talking about him and not you, Harry?” Ron sneered, rolling his eyes. 

“You’re being an arse,” Draco said quietly. “Give me the locket, and take five to sort your head out.” 

“Why the hell should I listen to you?” Ron shouted, turning hateful eyes on Draco. “You’re only here because you’re a cow—” 

“Shut up,” Harry hissed. 

“Oh, of course you’re going to take his—” 

“Shut up,” Harry said again, waving his hand. “Can you hear that?” 

Muffled voices could barely be heard over the whistle of the wind, and they all held their breath, listening hard. 

“Did you cast the spells?” Harry whispered to Draco, frowning slightly. 

Draco nodded. “Everything. Muffliato, Muggle-Repelling, Disillusionment, all of them. Whoever it is, they shouldn’t be able to hear us, or know we’re here.” 

Harry drew his wand, Hermione and Draco following immediately, and Ron finally pulling his own. 

The voices became louder but no more intelligible as the group neared, and then they heard a series of scrapes and small bangs, along with the sounds of the cracking of twigs and leaves on the ground. 

More talking, and then a fire sprang into life, visible through the canvas of the tent. 

The group spoke amongst themselves, their voices stronger now. Hermione handed out Extendable Ears, and Harry sat back down on the edge of his chair, wand still held tightly in his hand. 

When they heard the familiar voice of Dean Thomas, Harry’s eyes widened and he looked at Hermione and Ron, who looked back, small smiles on their faces. 

He seemed to be travelling with two older men and a goblin, oddly enough. Harry wasn’t quite sure what to make of the odd group. They listened to the conversation, hoping for something helpful or new. 

Harry felt his heart beating in his chest as the goblin gleefully told news about the fake sword in the vault at Gringotts. Finally, something to work with, something new to work towards. 

“Didn’t you hear about that, Ted? About the kids who tried to steal Gryffindor’s sword out of Snape’s office at Hogwarts?” 

An electric current seemed to course through Harry, jangling his nerves, rooting him to the spot. 

“Heard about it from Bill Weasley. One of the kids who tried to steal the sword was his younger sister.” 

Harry waited, breath held, for confirmation that Ginny, and whoever she was with, were safe. 

Finally, after long moments of waiting, Dean asked the question they were all waiting for an answer to. 

“They’ve suffered no serious injury, as far as I am aware.” 

Relief flowed through his veins and he leant back in the seat, listening until they heard the movements of the interlopers shifting away from their spot. 

“Ginny… the sword…” Harry managed, head spinning with the new information. 

“I know,” Hermione agreed, sounding breathless with emotion. 

She moved quickly, opening her beaded bag to pull out the empty frame of Phineas Nigellus. 

Harry blinked. He hadn’t even realised she’d fetched the portrait. He couldn’t help but notice that Draco was looking at her with a faint pride shining in his eyes. 

She called for the irritable Headmaster, and eventually he deigned to grant them his presence, his usual sneering doing nothing to tank Harry’s mood.

Finding out that Ginny, along with Neville and Luna, had to serve detention with Hagrid was the icing on Harry’s good mood. He knew that while it probably wasn’t the most comfortable evening of their lives, Hagrid would have taken great care of them. 

It was certainly better than anything Harry could’ve imagined, knowing who was in charge of the school. 

“Harry,” Hermione gasped, when Phineas left the frame in a cloud of irritability, leaving nothing but a murky backdrop behind him. 

“I know.” Harry couldn’t contain his excitement. He turned to Draco. “The sword can destroy Horcruxes; it’s what Dumbledore used to destroy the ring.” 

Draco nodded in understanding, smiling a little. 

“Where did Dumbledore leave the real one though?” Hermione pondered, looking thoughtful. 

“Not at Hogwarts,” Harry murmured, pacing. “Maybe the Shrieking Shack?” 

“Anyone can get in there,” Draco said, shaking his head. “Wouldn’t be safe.” 

“Ron? What do you reckon?” Harry asked, spinning to look at Ron. 

He was sitting on one of the lower bunks, glaring at the three of them. 

“Oh, remembered me, have you?” He asked. 

“What?” Harry asked, brought up short by the odd tone of voice. 

“You lot carry on,” Ron scoffed, waving his hand. “Don’t let me spoil your fun.” 

Perplexed, Harry looked to Hermione for help, but she looked as confused as he was with the sudden switch. 

“What’s the problem?” Harry asked, raising his eyebrow. 

“Problem? There’s no problem,” Ron said, refusing to look up and meet Harry’s eyes. “Not according to you, anyway.” 

“Well, you’ve obviously got a problem,” Harry snapped, patience waning. “Spit it out, don’t be shy.” 

Ron stood up, his fists clenching at his side. “Alright, I’ll spit it out. Don’t expect me to be excited just because there’s yet another fucking thing we’ve got to find. Just add it to the list of shit you don’t know!” 

“ _I_ don’t know?” Harry asked, voice low. Dread pooled in his stomach as one of his greatest fears came true in front of his eyes. He’d been worried the others were talking, were thinking he was useless, wondering if they should just drop him and run. 

“It’s not like I’m having the time of my life here,” Ron snapped. “Freezing cold all the time, always starving hungry, never getting anywhere. I thought we’d have achieved something by now! I thought you knew what you were doing!” 

“I thought you knew what you’d signed up for,” Harry replied quietly. “You know everything I know, everything I was told, I didn’t hide anything from you. Did you think we’d be staying in five star hotels, Ron? Did you think it was going to be a laugh, a holiday from school? Did you think you’d be home with your mum by Christmas?” 

“I thought Dumbledore told you more than you told us!” Ron shouted. “I thought you had a plan!” 

Harry shook his head and turned away. “Sorry to let you down.” 

“Take the locket off, Ron,” Hermione begged, her voice tearful. “You wouldn’t be talking like this if you weren’t wearing it.” 

“Yeah, he would,” Harry said, before Ron could reply. “You think I haven’t noticed the looks and whispered conversations? Did you think I hadn’t already guessed how disappointed you were in me?” 

Ron snorted, and Harry turned back to look at him. “Why are you still here?” 

“Search me.” 

“Then leave,” Harry replied simply. “I’m going for a walk, I’ll check the area. Look after her,” he added, to Draco, nodding at Hermione.

Draco sighed, but reached out to squeeze Harry’s shoulder. 

Harry grabbed the invisibility cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders before he turned back to Ron. “Give me the locket.” 

Ron took it off, and Harry snatched it from his hand, hooking it around his own neck in one angry movement. 

He walked out of the tent and didn’t look back, pulling the cloak up around his head, hiding him from view. 

… 

Draco stared between Ron and Hermione for a minute before he shook his head. “You know, I was always jealous of the friendship the three of you had. All through Hogwarts, you stuck by each other, for the most part, and I never had that. But this… what are you both thinking?” 

He paused, biting his bottom lip as he tried to come up with the words he needed. 

“I don’t know Potter the way you two do, and I probably never will. But you know what I do know about him? He loves the bones of the both of you, and he’d never hide information from you if he thought it could help. If I know that, why don’t the two of you? 

“Why isn’t he more important to you than a few square meals and a few freezing nights? Conjure a blanket, go fishing, stop fucking whining. If you want to leave, Weasley, I won’t stop you. You can do whatever the hell it is you want to do. Go home to Mummy, let her feed you up, go back to Hogwarts, I don’t care. 

“What I do know, is that when this is all over, when Potter wins, you’ll realise that you should have been by his side, and you’ll regret that you weren’t for the rest of your life.” 

Draco turned away and stomped into the tent opening. He sat down on the cushion there, and pulled the waiting blankets around his shoulders, his wand held in his lap. 

Silence reigned from the main tent, but Draco wasn’t listening anyway. He’d said what he needed to say, and it wasn’t for him to worry about Weasley and Granger anyway. It wasn’t really for him to worry about Potter, but that was already a lost cause. 

Murmured conversation sounded behind him and then footsteps. Draco looked up when Ron walked past him, stepping out into the darkness of the night without a single word. 

Draco sighed and shook his head. 

… 

Ron walked through the forest, listening out for the sound of footsteps. He knew he wouldn’t be able to see Harry, what with the cloak, but he figured he should still be able to hear him. 

He hated to admit, even in his own head, but Malfoy had been right. The frustration Ron had been feeling had built and built until it exploded out of him at the easiest target. He felt like an idiot. 

He needed to apologise, and he couldn’t just sit around the tent for however long it took Harry to come back. Hermione was fretting about him being out by himself and Ron didn’t want to talk to Malfoy. 

If he did that, he’d have to admit to Malfoy’s face that his words had hit home and… ew. 

A bright light caught his attention, and Ron, wand in hand, walked towards it, frowning. He hid behind a tree as he watched the light form into a doe. Ron followed on behind at a safe distance, pausing doe did, right by a frozen lake. 

From nowhere, Harry appeared, closer to the lake than Ron. It took Ron a moment to realise he too had been following the doe. 

Harry used his wand to light over the ice, and then, oddly, started stripping the many layers he was wearing. Ron called his name but it was too late. Harry pitched into the water of the lake and disappeared into the icy depths. 

Running towards the lake, Ron didn’t know what to do. When he reached the edge and there was still no sign of Harry resurfacing, Ron jumped into the water after him, struggling to find his way in the darkness. 

It was _freezing,_ and the cold hurt his chest, but he swam deeper until he finally managed to get a hand around Harry’s bicep and then around his chest. Ron kicked to the surface, breathing heavily when he finally broke into the night air. 

His eyes widened when he realised Harry was holding the Sword of Gryffindor, and he swore lowly when Harry began to cough up the icy water. 

“Are you fucking mental?” Ron asked, helping Harry up onto the bank of the lake. He cast drying and warming charms on both of them, though they didn’t really help Ron’s soaking clothes. “What were you thinking?” 

“I was thinking that the Sword of Gryffindor was in that lake and I needed to get it out,” Harry snapped, shivering. 

“With the locket still around your neck?” Ron asked, shaking his head. “Idiot. Get dressed.” 

“What are you even doing here?” Harry asked, tugging his jumper over his head. “Weren’t you going home?” 

“Harry,” Ron sighed. “I’m sorry. I was an arsehole and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said, any of it. I just… I’m struggling and I took it out on you and I shouldn’t have.” 

Harry stared at him for a long moment before he sighed. “Okay. I… okay.” 

… 

“What the bloody hell happened to you two?” Draco asked, when Ron and Harry made it back to the tent. “And where did you get the sword?” 

“Went for a swim,” Harry replied, his teeth still chattering. 

“Get in and get changed into something warm, bloody idiots,” Draco muttered, closing the tent zip and following them into the main tent, where Hermione was waiting. 

“We, erm… got rid of it?” Ron said, holding up the busted locket and the Sword of Gryffindor. 

Hermione blinked at him. “That’s… going to need more explanation.” 

Harry explained what happened while he warmed up in front of the fire. “And then… Ron stabbed it.” 

Draco saw the grateful look Ron gave Harry and wondered what the hell was up with that. Hermione must have missed it, because she just looked impressed with Ron, before she turned on Harry. 

“What were you thinking, jumping in with the locket still around your neck? And what were you thinking following a patronus you didn’t know?” 

Harry shrugged. “I have no excuse. I did stupid things.” 

Hermione gaped at him and then shook her head. “You’re going to be the death of me, Harry Potter.”

… 

With Ron’s complaints about the lack of food fresh in his mind, the next day, Harry decided it was time to chance the muggle world. Hermione made a dash for a cash point, drawing as much as she could from her account before Apparating back into the woods they’d taken shelter in. 

She handed the money over to Harry, eyes worried, and brow furrowed. 

“As fast as you can, Harry,” she reiterated firmly. “Get as many tins as possible, things that don’t go out of date too fast, non perishables, you know?” 

Harry nodded. 

“I’m coming with,” Draco announced, standing from his bunk. “I don’t trust you not to fuck this up.” 

The barely concealed worry in Draco’s eyes told Harry an entirely different story, but he held his tongue. Draco was quieter around Ron and Hermione, and Harry didn’t want to make him uncomfortable by outing the fact that he wasn’t a complete and utter douchenugget. 

“Oh yeah, cause you’re not going to get stared at, at all,” he commented instead, rolling his eyes. 

Draco smirked. “They’re only human, after all.” 

“Uh huh. That’s what I meant, sure,” Harry muttered. “Hermione, make him look more… normal, would you?” 

“Normal?” Draco asked, disdain evident. 

“Muggle,” Harry corrected himself, shrugging. 

“Ew. I think I just changed my mind.” 

“Suit yourself. I’ll be back in a bit.” 

Harry was barely at the opening before Draco sighed. “Hold your hippogriffs, Potter. Go ahead, Granger. Make me look like a _Muggle.”_

Ten minutes later, Harry gripped Draco’s arm tightly before Apparating them to a large grocery store a few towns over from the woods. 

He grabbed a trolly and led Draco inside, grinning at the way Draco tried to hide his wonder. 

“There’s… so much,” Draco muttered. “Why is there so much?” 

Harry shrugged. “Everyone likes choices, I guess. Come on, we gotta get this done quickly.” 

Doing as Hermione suggested, Harry loaded the trolly with tins of storable food, picking up a few treats along the way. He knew Ron would love some of the Muggle chocolate bars, and Hermione had said only a few days ago that she really wanted skittles, so he threw a few bags of those in too. 

Draco, doing exactly the opposite, put in piles of fresh fruit. 

“We can’t eat that many apples before they go off,” Harry complained, shaking his head. 

Draco just stared at him blandly until he gave in. They didn’t have time to be arguing over apples. 

Eventually, they made it to the checkout, and Harry forced Draco to help him pack the bags. 

“This is slave labour,” Draco pouted, though the twinkle in his eyes belied the attitude. 

Harry could also see the interest on his face when Harry paid the woman on the counter, his eyes taking in the different bills, and the way the till worked. 

They carried the bags between them until they found a quiet area to shrink them down and pocket them. Checking around themselves, they Apparated back to the safety of the tent. 

… 

“Why are you snogging that apple?” Harry asked, frowning. “Eat it like a normal human.” 

Draco chuckled at him. “It’s good. I feel like I haven’t eaten fruit for a million years.” 

“And that means you gotta make out with it?” 

“Boys,” Hermione chided, sitting down at the table with a book in her lap. “Behave.” 

“Uh huh,” they both agreed and Harry slumped down against the table. 

“So,” he started, drawing the word out. “I’ve been thinking.” 

“That’s never a good start to a conversation,” Ron said as he joined them at the table. “Didn’t hurt yourself, did you, Mate?” 

“Fuck you,” Harry replied blandly. “I want to go to Godric’s Hollow.” 

“We’ve already decided that’s a _terrible_ idea,” Hermione said softly. “I understand why you want to go, Harry, I really do, but—” 

“You don’t have to come with,” Harry replied. “I just… it’s where it all started for me, Hermione. I have to go there, to see the house and… I want to see my parent’s graves.” 

Draco frowned. “You’ve never been to your parent’s graves?” 

Harry shook his head. “No. I… no.” 

“That’s abhorrent,” Draco replied. “It’s your right, Potter.” 

“He’ll be expecting you to go there, Harry,” Hermione implored. “When this is all over—” 

“What if I don’t live that long?” Harry asked, raising his eyes to meet hers. “I want to go while I still have the chance, Hermione.” 

She stared at him for a long moment and then slumped in her seat. “We go at nighttime, you keep the cloak with you the whole time we’re there, and we use Polyjuice. You stay with us, you don’t do anything stupid, and if anything seems off, we leave immediately.” 

Harry got up and rounded the table, pulling her into a hug. “I promise. Thank you.” 

…

Draco barely managed to hold back the laughter threatening to erupt from his chest. They’d Apparated into Godric’s Hollow, and upon landing, Weasley had hit black ice and fell straight on his ass. 

Even Hermione giggled before she managed to cover her mouth with her gloved hand. Harry helped Ron up, and the four of them walked slowly through the small town towards the graveyard. 

Draco kept to Harry’s shoulder the entire time, checking around them for anything that looked out of place. Hermione and Ron walked behind them, close enough that if necessary, they could reach out and grab them. 

“Is this… No, sorry, Harry,” Hermione murmured, frowning down at a gravestone. 

Harry continued on, and Draco felt him stiffen when they finally came upon the Potter’s graves. 

The headstone was white marble, a simple inscription of their names, birthdays and death date swirled across it. Beneath that, a sentence; _The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death._

Harry repeated it softly, frowning. “I don’t… isn’t that a—” 

“It doesn’t mean defeating death the way You-Know-Who means it, Harry,” Hermione said softly, squeezing his arm. “More, living beyond death. Living after death.” 

Harry nodded and then sighed. “They’re not living though, are they?” 

The tears came before he could stop them, and they fell hot against his cold cheeks. He pressed his lips together tightly, forcing himself to stay quiet in his sorrow. 

Hermione carefully moved forwards and created a wreath with magic, placing it against the headstone. 

“Thank you,” Harry whispered, offering her a watery smile. 

She nodded and stepped back, letting him grieve in as much privacy as they could grant him. A hand slipped into Harry’s and squeezed, and he looked to the side to see Draco beside him, looking down with a regretful look on his face. 

“We should go,” Harry said, with a final look down. 

… 

“Harry, look,” Hermione said softly. 

He turned, and his eyes widened. The Fidelius Charm must have died with his parents, because he could see the house. The hedge had grown wild in the sixteen years it had been left abandoned. Most of the cottage was still standing, though entirely covered in dark ivy and snow, but the right side of the top floor had been completely blown apart. 

That must have been where the curse backfired. 

“I wonder why nobody’s ever rebuilt it,” Hermione mused almost silently. 

“Potter owns it,” Draco said quietly. When he saw them all staring at him, he rolled his eyes. “My father had me learn all about the various families long before I went to Hogwarts.” 

They reached the gate and Harry pressed his hand to it, gasping when a sign rose out of the ground at his touch. 

They read the sign silently, though Harry was more interested in the scribbles around the sign. 

Words like, _Good luck, Harry, wherever you are,_ and _Long live Harry Potter!_

“They shouldn’t have written on the sign like that!” Hermione said, indignant. 

Harry grinned and shook his head. “I’m glad they did. I—” 

He broke off. A heavily muffled figure was hobbling up the lane towards them. She was moving slowly, possibly worried about sliding on the icy ground. They waited, still and stiff to see if she turned towards any of the surrounding cottages, but Harry knew, instinctively, that she would not. 

“Are you… Bathilda?” Harry asked, when she stopped in front of them, eyes shining in the light from the street lamps. 

She nodded, and turned, gesturing with her head for them to follow her. 

“I… do not like this,” Draco murmured in Harry’s ear. 

“We won’t find out what’s going on unless we follow her,” Harry replied, just as quietly. 

The four of them kept close together as they followed her down the road. When she reached the door, she fumbled with her key and then, once the door was open, stepped back to allow them entrance. 

“I really do not like this,” Draco reiterated with a hiss. 

The house smelled terrible. Harry wrinkled his nose as he walked inside. She followed them in and closed the door behind her. 

“Bathilda?” Harry asked again, when she appeared in front of him. Her skin was mottled and almost transparent in places, and her face was dotted with broken veins and liver spots. 

She nodded again, and shuffled past them, shoving Draco to the side. Ron and Hermione stood behind them, Hermione gripping Ron’s arm. 

“Harry, I’m not sure about this,” Hermione whispered. 

“Come!” Bathilda shouted, from wherever the doorway she’d passed through led to. 

“That was—” 

Harry ignored Draco and led the way after Bathilda. She was in a living room, and he took the matches from her hand when he saw her struggling. Lighting the candles around the room, Harry froze when he saw a photograph on her mantle. 

It was the thief from Harry’s vision. 

All at once, it dawned on Harry where he’d recognised the face from. He’d seen it in _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore._

“Miss Bagshot… who is this?” 

She blinked at him slowly and didn’t answer. 

“Who is this man?” He asked again, louder this time. Draco, Hermione and Ron entered the room, and he showed them the picture. “This is the thief, the one who stole from Gregorovitch,” he told them. Turning back to Bathilda, he said, “Please, tell me who this is.” 

She said nothing, and Harry growled lowly with frustration. She stepped closer to him, and then gestured to the stairs with her head. 

“Erm. You want us to leave?” Harry guessed, confused. 

She shook her head, pointing to herself, then to Harry, then the stairs again. 

“I… you want me to go upstairs with you?” 

She nodded vigorously and motioned for him to lead the way. When Hermione moved to step after him, Bathilda shook her head and pushed Hermione back. 

“Bad idea,” Draco said, raising his eyebrows at Harry. “Let’s get out of here.” 

Harry tilted his head to the side and then shook his head. “It’ll be fine. I’ll be right back.” 

He led the way up the stairs, grimacing at the smell. It was dark, darker the deeper into the upstairs he got, and when she closed the door behind them in what Harry guessed was a bedroom, it got even darker. 

“Lumos,” Harry murmured, igniting the end of his wand to give some light. 

“You are Potter?” Bathilda asked softly. 

“Yes,” Harry confirmed, raising his eyebrow. 

She nodded slowly, solemnly. Then she closed her eyes, and several things happened at once. Harry’s scar prickled painfully, and he felt a foreign leap of joy that most certainly wasn’t his own in his stomach. A high, cold voice spoke in his ear. 

_“Hold him!”_

Harry swayed where he stood; the dark, foul smelling room seeming to close in on him. He didn’t understand what was happening. Before he could say anything, Bathilda moved weirdly. Horror paralysed him as he saw the old body collapsing, and a great snake pouring out from the place her neck had been. 

The snake struck as he raised his wand. He rolled sideways, painfully colliding with the steel bed frame but avoiding the snake’s strike and the door burst open, Draco charging in with Ron and Hermione just a step behind. 

“Confringo!” Draco cried, blasting the snake away from where it was rearing up to strike Harry again. “Diffindo!” 

“The sword,” Harry managed to gasp, struggling to push himself to his feet. “Use the sword, she’s a Horcrux.” 

Nagini attacked again, managing to coil around Harry as she batted Draco away with her tail. The breath was slowly squeezed from Harry before Hermione managed to pull the sword from her beaded bag. 

“Do it,” Harry gasped, using the last of his breath. 

She swallowed hard and raised the sword, and then froze. 

Draco pushed himself back to his feet and wrapped his hand around both of hers, bringing the sword down to stab into Nagini, close to her tail which lay on the floor. 

Harry was released as she tried to attack Draco, but as soon as Harry was freed from her coils, Draco swung Hermione’s hands with the sword and sliced Nagini in half with one fast movement. 

Harry saw the echo of a spirit rise from her and then it was gone and it was just them and the remnants of a dead snake. 

“Time to go,” Draco said, reaching out to grip Harry’s arm. 

The familiar squeeze of Apparition surrounded Harry, and they were gone. 

… 

They landed, and Harry collapsed to the floor, clutching at his scar. It was burning more painfully than he’d ever felt before. 

_He swept through the house, ready to end this, ready to be done with the pestilential boy once and for all. He called out for Nagini, but she didn’t answer, causing a stirring in his gut._

_She’d never ignored him before._

_He walked up the stairs, his wand in hand, the killing curse ready and prepared on his lips. He didn’t need to make a show of it, he just wanted the boy_ dead. 

_Dead and gone and unable to continue on making himself a nuisance as he had since before he was even born._

_He called for Nagini again, pushing the door open, only to scream in rage at what he found there._

_How had the boy managed this? How had he done this to Nagini, the beautiful snake that had been with him for so many years._

_The receptacle of one of his own soul fragments._

_How, How, HOW?_

_Another scream of rage left him as fire flew from his wand, burning everything in its path. He stalked through the house, setting every inch of it alight in his rage._

_The boy would pay for this. He’d pay_ dearly! 

...

“How are you feeling?” 

Harry stretched and then cringed at the pain running down his side. “Ugh. I’ll live,” he replied, sitting up slowly. “What happened?” 

“You collapsed when we landed, screaming and holding onto your scar,” Draco told him quietly, stroking a hand through Harry’s hair. “You finally settled, and we carried you inside and put you on the bed. You’ve been out for about five hours.” 

Harry groaned. “He found Nagini,” he said slowly, memory returning spottily. “He’s pissed. I… I don’t think he realised we’re going after the Horcruxes though. Or at least, he didn’t think it in the immediate aftermath. He, uh, burnt the house down though, in his anger.” 

Draco shook his head. “You gotta stop jumping headlong into these situations, Potter. You’re going to give me grey hair.” 

“I am my own worst enemy,” Harry admitted. “I can’t seem to not do stupid things when the opportunity is presented.” 

Draco snorted. “I’ve noticed.” 

“Help me up,” Harry asked, and Draco took his hand, gently pulling him until he was standing up by the bed. “Okay, ouch.” 

“Uh huh.” 

…

“Harry?” 

He looked up from the book he’d been reading and smiled at her. “What’s up, Hermione?” 

“I, uh. Well. When we were at Bathilda’s… I saw the book, you know, _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore,_ on her table, and it was still… it hadn’t even been opened so I… well. I took it. And I found the picture.” 

Harry took the book when she offered it, and opened it to the page she’d marked. 

He read the inscription beneath the photo and then had to read it again, because it made no sense at all. 

_Albus Dumbledore, shortly after his mother’s death, with his friend, Gellert Grindelwald._

“But. What?” 

He flipped through the pages until he found further mention of Grindelwald, and then read the pages. When he was finished with the chapter, he looked up at Hermione, noticing she was watching for his reaction. 

“You’ve read all of this?” 

She nodded, biting her lip. 

“I, uh. I guess I didn’t know him at all.” 

“Harry,” she sighed, squeezing his wrist. “I know it doesn’t make for nice reading—” 

“You could say that,” Harry replied dryly. 

He didn’t know how to feel about the words he’d read. He was angry, sad, wounded that he’d always believed Dumbledore to be one person, only to find out he was someone so entirely different. 

“I… the reason I’m bringing it up, is… if you look at the letter…” She flipped through the pages, and then opened it to a photograph of the original letter Dumbledore sent to Grindelwald. “Look at the signature.” 

Harry looked at it and then back at her. 

“Look at the A.” 

Harry looked closer and then frowned. It was the same symbol as in The Tales of Beedle The Bard Book. 

“It keeps cropping up,” Hermione said quietly, as Ron and Draco joined them in the little living space. “In that book, in the Beedle book, and… I’m sure I saw it on a gravestone in Godric’s Hollow.” 

“Okay,” Harry agreed, unwilling to doubt her. “But what does it mean.” 

“Well, I think… I think we should go and see Xenophilius Lovegood.” 

Draco frowned at her. “Um. Why?” 

She showed the Draco the symbol in the book. “We keep seeing it crop up, and I think… maybe it’s something we should be looking into. Maybe Dumbledore left—” 

“He didn’t leave us any clues, Hermione,” Harry muttered tiredly. “I know you want to hope he did, I do too, but I think it’s time to face the facts that he didn’t. He left us with a mess of non-information, and a task that is practically impossible.” 

“Mr Lovegood was wearing the sign on a chain around his neck at Bill and Fleur's wedding,” Hermione said, as though Harry hadn’t said anything. “I think we should go and see him and see what it means. Viktor said it was Grindelwald’s mark, but I’m not so sure of that.” 

“But… this is the Deathly Hallows symbol,” Draco said, blankly. 

“What?” 

Draco blinked. “I understand Potter and Granger not getting the reference, but you should know it, Weasley. From the Tale of the Three Brothers?” 

When they all looked at him blankly, he rolled his eyes. “Call yourself a pureblood,” he muttered, shaking his head at Ron. 

“Okay, do you all at least know the Tale of the Three Brothers?” 

Ron and Hermione nodded, but Harry shook his head. 

“Potter… give me strength.” 

“Okay, so later, you’re going to sit down and read Beedle the Bard, because you’re offending me. But for now. Three men meet Death for shits and giggles, and he gives them all gifts for supposedly defeating him. 

“The wand, the resurrection stone, and the invisibility cloak. Together, they made the Deathly Hallows, and according to lore, if one person unites the Hallows, they become Master of Death.” 

“And… what?” 

“Well. Maybe it’s not just a story,” Draco replied with a shrug. “Maybe Dumbledore was thinking Horcruxes versus Hallows.” 

“Or maybe, it’s all crap and we should focus on the Horcruxes.” 

“It’s something to look into, isn’t it?” Hermione asked. “We’re not getting anywhere fast with anything else at the moment and—” 

“Hermione,” Harry sighed. “There’s already so much that we’ve got to find out. Do you really want to add something else to the mix?” 

“I think… I think maybe it’s something. But I’m not sure,” Hermione admitted. “It seems too good to be true, and honestly, at this point I think we’re all going to be willing to just grasp onto anything that gives us hope for an end to all of this but… but I think it’s something.” 

Harry sighed. “Give me the book then. I can at least read the story, right?” 

… 

“It’s so weird to me that you didn’t grow up with all this stuff,” Draco said, later that night. He gestured to the Bard book, open on Harry’s lap. “Growing up, these were the stories my mother read to me at nighttime whenever she wasn’t out at the latest society party. Babbitty Rabbitty was always my favourite.” 

Harry smiled, imagining baby Draco sitting on his mum’s lap, listening to stories about Babbitty Rabbitty. 

“I guess, for me, it’s just… one of the symbols of being a wizard.” 

Harry nodded and then frowned. “What would you say are the other symbols?” he asked, sitting up a little from where he’d slumped in the armchair. 

Hermione looked up from the table too, showing she was paying attention to the conversation. 

Draco twisted his lips in thought for a moment. “A wand,” he said eventually. “Even for a pureblood, getting your first wand is always a huge moment.” 

Harry nodded. 

“Hogwarts letter. First familiar. Key to Gringotts. All symbols.” 

“Hmm. So taking that logic and… You-Know-Who was obsessed with proving how special he was, right? Using the diary, which was the proof he descended from Salazar Slytherin for example, and then the ring, from the Gaunts. He thought his defining feature was being a wizard. Is it really so unreasonable that he put a Horcrux in a Gringotts vault?” 

“Harry—” 

“Hear me out,” Harry said, stalling Hermione. “He used Nagini, his familiar. I still maintain that there’s a Horcrux at Hogwarts, and Dumbledore thought that the last two could possibly be Hufflepuff’s cup and another Founder’s heirloom, right?” 

“He’s… not wrong,” Draco admitted, looking thoughtful. “And Gringotts is locked up tighter than a sphinx's ass, so… but does he even have a Vault?” 

“I doubt it,” Harry replied, staring at the canvas wall. “But he entrusted the diary to Malfoy… sorry. He entrusted the Diary to Lucius and… so maybe he entrusted another of them to another Death Eater?” 

“Bellatrix,” Draco replied. “He tolerates more from her than anyone else. If he wasn’t so… him, I’d even say he was fond of her.” 

Harry blinked. 

Ron cringed. “Ew.” 

Draco chuckled. “Not like that. But definitely Bellatrix, if we’re talking about who he’d entrust something so important too.” 

Harry nodded. It made sense. 

“So… all we gotta do is… break into Gringotts?”

Ron grinned. “Piece of cake.” 

… 

Harry tossed and turned, unable to sleep. His scar had been aching on and off the whole day, and he’d taken cover under his blankets, not wanting to deal with the concerned looks and questions about how he was feeling. 

He closed his eyes and buried his face against the pillow, praying for sleep to take him. 

He was so tired, and yet, his mind was over active, thoughts of Gringotts plaguing him. Were they really going to try and break into the bank? 

Hagrid’s words from years ago had been frequently played in his mind since the conversation, and Harry couldn’t help believe the half giant’s opinion. 

_You’d be mad to try and break into Gringotts._

Duh. 

The worst of it, Harry thought, was that despite his doubts and misgivings, he was going to do it anyway because what else could he do? 

If there really was a Horcrux at Gringotts… 

He had no choice in the matter. They were going to have to do the impossible, _again_ , and try for yet another miracle. 

Eventually, Harry drifted off to sleep. 

… 

_The white tomb beckoned, and he raised his phoenix wand high, and the tomb split open from head to foot. The shrouded figure was as long and thin as it had been in life, and he raised his wand again, causing the wrappings to fall away._

_The body was almost perfectly preserved, but he had no time to pay attention to the man. Only what the man held._

_There, beneath the hands folded together on his chest, was what he sought._

_Had the old fool imagined that marble or death would protect the wand? Had he thought the the Dark Lord would be scared to violate his tomb._

_Foolish old man._

_With spider like fingers, he reached in and pulled the wand free. As he took it, a shower of sparks flew from it’s tips, sparkling over the corpse of its last owner._

_The Deathstick. The Wand Of Destiny. The Elder Wand ._

_Ready and willing to serve it’s new master._

…

He woke gasping for breath. Sitting up, Harry scrambled from beneath the covers, grateful to find Ron, Hermione and Draco all awake and sitting in the living space of the tent. 

“They’re real,” he gasped out, leaning on the back of a chair. “The Hallows. Or at least, the wand, the wand is real. He has it. You-Know-Who has the Elder Wand.” 

“What?” Hermione asked, frowning. 

“I saw it, Hermione. He took it from Dumbledore’s tomb. Dumbledore had it, and I’m going to make an educated guess and say he took it from Grindelwald when they fought, since Grindelwald stole it from Gregorovitch.” 

Harry rounded the chair and slumped into it. “The cloak… Hermione, you know I have the cloak. We’ve known that since the moment the Hallow’s were brought up. Not anywhere in the Wizarding world can you buy a cloak like mine.” 

“The stone, though?” Hermione asked. “Are you telling me that you really believe in a resurrection stone? No spell can bring people back to life, Harry!” 

“But she didn’t come back to life,” Draco argued. “Not really. It’s like… a ghost but not.” 

“The Snitch,” Ron said quietly, raising his eyes to meet Harry’s. “The Snitch that Dumbledore left you. Be about the right size for a pebble, no?” 

“But we couldn’t open the Snitch,” Hermione murmured. 

“Snitch?” Draco asked, frowning. 

“Dumbledore left Harry the Snitch he caught in his first match at Hogwarts,” Ron replied with a fond smile. “To remember persistence and something-something.” 

“Ugh, the one you nearly swallowed? I’m still sore about that.” 

Harry, Ron and Hermione stared at him for a long moment before they looked between themselves and started laughing. 

Harry got up and went to fetch the Snitch, shaking his head at his own idiocy. When he returned with the Snitch in hand, the other three were waiting on him eagerly. He lifted the Snitch to his lips and pressed for a moment, feeling a sinking disappointment when nothing happened. 

“There’s writing on it,” Ron said, pointing. 

Harry pulled it away from his lips and read the familiar slanted writing on the gold surface. 

“ _I open at the close_.” 

He looked up to meet the other’s eyes and found three confused expressions looking back at him. 

They only echoed what he was feeling himself. 

… 

“You know that this is a suicide mission, right?” he said quietly, sitting down beside Harry. 

Harry nodded. They hadn’t spoken much about Gringotts since the revelation about the Hallows, but they knew they were going to have to do it soon, and so they’d pushed the Hallows discussions to the back burner and had begun discussing the bank. 

What little they knew, which certainly wasn’t enough for any kind of confidence. 

“I… Probably,” Harry admitted. “But at this point… I don’t know what else to do. Gringotts is as good a place as any to hide a Horcrux, but hell if I know how we’re going to actually get it if it is there.” 

Draco tugged Harry down to lie in his lap. It had been a while since he’d done it, but Harry wasn’t about to complain when talented fingers started combing through his hair. 

“Trust in your friends. The three of you have done the impossible before, right?” 

Harry closed his eyes. “The four of us can do the impossible now. I just… I want this to be over, and yet, I hate the idea of putting any of you in any more danger.” 

A chuckle sounded, and Harry turned his head to see Ron and Hermione standing by the entrance to the front of the tent. “Either it’ll turn out, or we’ll go down together, mate. S’how we do things, yeah?” 

Harry nodded, feeling warm despite the cold of the night. “Yeah, mate. It’s how we do things.” 

Ron and Hermione joined them, sitting close together so they could all fit into the opening. The rain pattered on the canopy roof, soothing in a way. 

“I have no idea how we’re going to do this,” Harry admitted. “We need some form of a plan, but… hell if I know what kind. Even if we get inside the bank, how do we find our way to Bellatrix’s vault? And then an even better question, how the hell do we get out?” 

“All good questions. I got nothing,” Ron replied, shrugging. “Wing it?” 

“I think… it depends how ready you are to use questionable magic,” Draco said quietly. 

Harry looked up at him. “How questionable are we talking?” 

“ _Imperius_.” 

…

The cloak didn’t cover them all, especially given that there were now four instead of three, and they weren’t eleven anymore. 

Instead, they chose to use Polyjuice potion, hoping that if they could at least get through the main entrance of the bank, they might be able to fudge it from there. 

“I have a very bad feeling about this,” Harry murmured, walking hand in hand down Diagon Alley with Draco. Ron and Hermione were behind them, pointing at various shop windows as they walked. 

“There’s still time to leave,” Draco replied softly. 

Harry sighed. “We’re here now. Might as well… try? What’s the worst that could happen?” 

“Why did you have to ask that?” Draco asked, frowning. “You’ve just jinxed us.” 

“I think you were jinxed the moment you came to Grimmauld Place,” Harry replied. 

“Or blessed,” Draco countered, as they walked up the steps to the bank. “Let’s get this done.” 

Of course, it all went to hell in a handbasket. 

“Imperio,” Harry murmured, as soon as they reached the desk. “Take us to Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault.” 

The goblin did so without pause, leading the four of them into one of the rickety old carriages.

“Please wait, I shall need the Clankers.” 

Harry blinked. “Clankers?” he asked, looking at Draco. 

“I… have no idea,” Draco admitted, frowning. 

The Goblin returned with a leather bag that seemed to be full of jangling metal. 

“Wait! Bogrod!” 

Harry groaned, resting his head against Draco’s shoulder as another Goblin came towards them, eyeing them suspiciously as he approached. 

“We have instructions, Bogrod,” the Goblin muttered. “We’re not to go down to the Lestrange vaults.” 

“Imperio,” Harry muttered again, sending the second Goblin back to his station. 

As the cart set off, Harry shook his head. “I feel _dirty,”_ he admitted. 

Draco rubbed his arm comfortingly as the cart picked up speed. They hurtled through the labyrinth like passages, twisting and turning until Harry felt a deep nausea at the movement. 

They went deeper and deeper, and then, after a hairpin bend, they saw a waterfall pounding over the track. 

“What the—” 

They were sodden in less than a second, and Harry blinked as he realised the polyjuice had been washed away in an instant. 

“What the hell was—” 

The cart tilted forwards and they were all tipped out into freefall. He heard Hermione shriek, and the fall slowed just before they hit the hard ground. 

“Cushioning charm,” Hermione spluttered, when Ron looked at her questioningly. They pushed themselves to their feet and looked around. 

“I’d say we’re caught,” Harry muttered, looking between them. 

Bogrod stood to the side, shaking his head with bewilderment. 

“Imperio!” Harry muttered again, replacing the curse on the goblin. As dirty as it made him feel, they needed the goblin if they were ever going to get out of this mess. Bogrod submitted to him once more, and Harry instructed him to lead them to Bellatrix’ vault. 

“How are we going to get out again?” Ron asked, as they followed the goblin at a fast pace into the darkness. 

“Let’s worry about that when we have to,” Harry said. 

They turned a corner and froze. 

Bogrod had the ‘Clankers’ held out in front of him. A gigantic dragon was tethered to the ground, barring access to four or five of the deepest vaults. The dragon’s scales had turned pale and flaky and it’s eyes were milky pink. Both rear legs bore heavy cuffs pegging it to the rocky floor. 

Harry felt a burst of anger that any being could treat a creature this way. 

It turned its large head towards them and roared with a noise that made the rock tremble, then opened its mouth and spat a jet of fire towards them. They ducked out of range quickly, as Bogrod pulled out a number of small metal instruments that when shaken, made a loud ringing noise. 

Bogrod shook them and the dragon retreated backwards, slipping on the rocky floor. 

“It’s scared of the noise,” Hermione whispered, horrified. They moved forwards behind Bogrod until they were at the vault, and then waited for the Goblin to place his hand on the door. 

The door to the vault melted away to reveal a cave-like opening. It was crammed from floor to ceiling with golden coins and goblets, silver armour and jewels. 

“Search, fast,” Harry said to the others, as they all scrambled inside. He’d described the cup in detail to the three of them, but told them to be on the lookout for anything founder-ish. 

They looked around, and saw nothing like what they were looking for, each of them desperately searching until— 

“It’s up there,” Draco cried out, pointing to the cup on top of a high shelf. “How the bloody hell are we going to get it. 

“Shoulders,” Harry ordered. “Climb on my shoulders. Hermione get the sword out of the bag.” 

She did as he told her as Draco carefully clambered onto Harry’s shoulders. Hermione handed the sword to Draco and he swung it up, catching the handle of the cup with the sword and bringing it down. 

“Put them in your bag, Hermione,” Harry said. “We can destroy it later.” 

They could hear the pounding of feet getting nearer, and Harry looked at his friends' scared faces. “Let’s go!” 

They fled the vault, rounding the corner just in time to see a horde of Goblins running towards them. 

“Fuck,” Harry muttered. 

The advancing Goblins were coming towards them carrying daggers and torches. 

“Stupefy!” He shouted, aiming his wand at them, as he backed away around the corner. 

The tethered dragon let out a terrifying roar, and Harry had a split second idea that could have been the worst of the best he’d had in his life. A gush of flames flew overhead, and he ducked. 

Twisting, he pointed his wand at the thick cuffs and yelled, “Relashio!” 

The cuffs broke open with loud bands. 

“This way!” Harry yelled, still shooting Stunners at the oncoming crowd as he sprinted towards the dragon. 

“Harry - Harry - What are you doing?” Hermione cried. 

“Get up, climb up, come on,” he urged them, gesturing to the dragon. 

“Are you _insane_?” Draco asked, eyes wide. 

“Yes, now climb!” 

Harry hoisted himself onto the dragon. His foot found the crook of it’s hind leg and he pulled himself up onto its back. The scales were hard as steel; it didn’t even seem to feel him. He stretched out an arm, helping Hermione up and sitting her in front of them. Ron and Draco followed, sitting behind Harry. 

A second later, and the dragon became aware it was untethered. With a roar, it reared; Harry dug in his knees, and held onto the jagged scales as best he could as the wings opened, knocking the shrieking goblins aside like skittles as it soared into the air. 

“We’ll never get out, it’s too big,” Hermione shouted, but the dragon opened its mouth and belched flame again, blasting the tunnel, whose floors and ceiling cracked and crumbled. 

By sheer force, the dragon clawed and fought its way through. 

“Defodio,” Hermione yelled, helping the dragon enlarge the passageway. Harry, Ron and Draco copied her, blasting the ceiling apart with more gouging spells. 

And then at last, by the combined force of their spells and the dragon’s brute strength, they had blasted their way out of the passage into the marble hallway. 

Goblins and wizards shrieked and yelled, terrified and running for cover left and right. The dragon pushed its way through the entrance and forced its way through the metal doors, leaving them buckled and hanging from the hinges as it staggered into Diagon Alley and launched itself into the sky. 

… 

The four of them sat in silence for a long time, disbelieving that they’d actually made it out of the bank alive. Harry knew that if the dragon turned sharply or rolled, they were done for, but just for a moment, he took the time to revel in the luxury of still being alive. 

“That was insane,” Draco groaned behind him, burying his face in between Harry’s shoulder blades. 

“You think?” Harry asked, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. 

Ron laughed behind them, and even Hermione let out a shaky giggle. 

“We, uh, need to think about getting off the dragon,” Harry admitted. “Because seriously, after all that, I don’t wanna turn into dragon chow when it lands.” 

“Just… for a minute, can we just… sit?” Draco asked. 

Harry nodded, reaching behind him to squeeze Draco’s knee. Draco was pretty good about going along with their schemes, but even Harry had to admit that this one was probably a lot to deal with. 

The sun slipped lower in the sky as they flew, cities and towns gliding by beneath them. 

“Is it just me,” Ron yelled, after a considerable stretch of silence, “or are we losing height?” 

Harry looked around them and realised that Ron was right, they were flying lower and lower over lakes and deep green mountains. 

“I saw we jump when it gets low enough,” Harry called back. “Straight into the water before it realises we’re here.” 

They agreed, shifting their legs until they were all sitting side-saddle on the dragon’s back. 

“Now,” Harry yelled, and the four of them slid down the side of the dragon into the air, until they hit the water hard, plunging into the freezing, reed filled lake. Harry kicked to the surface, and emerged, panting, to see the others doing the same. 

The dragon flew on overhead, it’s wings beating hard. Harry watched as it gained distance before setting down by another lake. 

The set for the shore. The lake didn’t seem to be deep, but it was marshy and hell to walk through. By the time they reached the shore, all four of them were sweaty and tired, panting from exertion and aching all over. 

Harry drew his wand and cast their protective charms around them before he flopped down on the ground with the others. 

Hermione managed to sit herself up and reached into the bag, pulling bottles of water and snacks from the depths. They ate and drank in silence, all of them needed the sustenance. 

When they were done, they cleaned off as best they could with magic and changed into clean, warm clothes. 

Hermione pulled the cup and the sword out and set them both in the middle of them all. 

“Go ahead, Hermione,” Harry murmured. “Stab it. Straight through the top.” 

“I can’t,” she whispered.

He nodded. “You can. Do it.” 

With shaking hands, she raised the sword, and when Harry nodded at her, she plunged it down, the sword sinking into the metal of it easily. 

Harry heard a screech in his own head and winced, pressing a hand to his prickling head. 

“Harry? Harry, are you okay?” 

Harry nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’m fine. 

“One to go,” he murmured, staring at the spoiled cup. “One to go.” 

“Do you think he knows what we’ve been doing?” Ron asked, looking up at the sky. 

“I don’t know how to break it to you, Weasley, but I think someone might have noticed that we broke Gringotts.” 

“Broke into,” Hermione corrected, though she smiled. 

Draco shook his head. “Nah. I was right the first time.” 

Harry chuckled and the others followed suit. 

“What are we going to do?” Hermione asked. “We don’t know where the last one is, and if he knows, what’s to stop him from going to get it and hiding it someplace new?” 

The prickling in Harry’s scar got worse, and he pressed a hand to it. He faded into darkness for a moment and he felt as though someone had taken a dagger and pushed it into his head. 

Voldemort was _insanely mad._

Flashes of the Horcrux hiding places flashed through his mind as Voldemort thought about the three he knew were gone. The Diary, Nagini and the Cup. Harry followed along as Voldemort thought about the others, about checking on them, strengthening the protections around them. 

The locket in the cave and the ring at the Gaunt shack. 

A flash of something blue, and Hogwarts flashed through his mind next and Harry couldn’t help but feel a little smug about being right, even as he felt panic at the thought of attempting to break into the castle. 

Harry blinked his eyes open to see Ron, Hermione and Draco watching him, worried expressions on their faces. 

“He knows,” Harry told them quietly. “He’s pissed at himself for not realising when we killed Nagini, but… he’s planning to check on the remaining ones. The Shack first, which was where the ring was. Then the Cave. The other one, is at Hogwarts. _I knew it_.” 

Ron was gaping at him. “What did you see?” 

“He was at the bank. He… is mad. Very, very mad. And… there was a lot of murder. He doesn’t know how we know, but he’s worried. He thinks the Hogwarts one is safest because Snape’s there, so he’s checking that one last but… he could still be there within hours.” 

“Did you see where in Hogwarts?” Draco asked, raising his eyebrow. 

Harry shook his head and pushed himself to his feet. Ron and Draco followed him, battle faces on. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Hermione cried, standing up to join them. “What are you thinking? We can’t just _go to Hogwarts_ , are you _mad_?” 

“We don’t have a choice,” Harry replied firmly. “If he gets to that Horcrux first, we’re up shit creek without a paddle, Hermione.” 

“But how are we even going to get in?” 

“We’ll go to Hogsmeade,” Harry replied. “And try and work something out from there. One of the passages, maybe.” 

They linked hands and with a nod, Hermione twisted, all of them turning on the spot into the crushing darkness. 

…

They’d barely touched ground when the air was filled with a screaming sound. 

“What the hell—” 

“We need to hide,” Draco hissed. “It’s a Caterwauling Charm, probably placed over the whole of Hogsmeade.” 

They ran, slipping into a side street as fast as they could, just as the door to the Three Broomsticks burst open and a dozen cloaked and hooded Death Eater’s rushed out, wands already drawn. 

“We know you’re here, Potter,” one of them called, tone mocking. “Come out and play, won’t you?” 

“They were ready for us,” Harry muttered to the others, pressing back into the darkness as much as they could. 

“We could disapparate out now,” Hermione suggested, fear evident in her tone.

“And then what?” Harry asked. “He’ll move it and this will never end. We can’t leave, Hermione.” 

A door to their left opened, and before Harry could raise his wand, a gruff voice muttered, “In here, Potter.” 

With no other option and the Death Eaters calling for the Dementors, Harry ducked past the man, the others a mere step behind him. 

“Upstairs, stay quiet and hide,” the voice insisted, once they were all inside. They followed his instructions and climbed the stairs and entered the first room they saw. It was a sitting room, with a lit fireplace and a threadbare carpet, furniture old but comfortable looking. 

Harry stayed close to the door, listening for any sign that they needed to hide. There was still a commotion, but it was quieting. 

“What are you doing at the door?” an obnoxious voice asked. “You’re breaking curfew!” 

The gruff tone that had offered them sanctuary snorted. “If I want to put my cat out, I’ll put my cat out, curfew be damned!” 

“You set off the Caterwauling Charm?” 

“What if I did? Going to cart me off to Azkaban? Kill me for sticking my nose out of my own front door? Do it, then, if you want to!” 

The Death Eater didn’t seem to know what to say to that, and he stumbled for a moment, before shouting, “Get back indoors and stay there!” 

The door closed a moment later and Harry sagged against the wall in relief. Hermione collapsed into a rickety chair and Draco and Ron leant against the opposite wall to Harry, relief clear on both of their faces. 

“Thank you,” Harry said, as soon as the man entered the room. “Thank you for saving us.” 

“You bloody fools,” the man said, looking from one to the next of them. “What were you thinking, coming here?” 

Harry stared at him for a long moment, sure that he knew the man. 

“You’re Aberforth,” Draco said, his tone a little shaky. “You… you’re Dumbledore’s brother.” 

Harry looked over at Draco, worried about how pale he looked. Not that Harry blamed him, given what Draco had done, but he was different now. Harry didn’t want Aberforth to be cruel to him over a mistake he’d been doing his best to make up for. 

Ready to defend the blond, Harry blinked when Aberforth simply nodded at Draco and said, “I wouldn’t have expected to see you with Potter.” 

“Things change,” Draco whispered. 

“Clearly,” Aberforth agreed. “You can all stay here until morning, and then you need to get the hell out of the country. The bounty on your head alone, Potter, is enough that you’ll be hunted until you’re dead!” 

“I can’t,” Harry replied. “I need to get into Hogwarts, tonight if possible.” 

Aberforth stared at him. “Are you mad?” 

“Possibly. That doesn’t change what I need to do.” 

“Don’t be stupid, Potter. Get out while you still can.” 

“You don’t understand,” Harry replied quietly. “I’ve got a job to do, and to finish it, I need to get into Hogwarts. If you can’t help with that, it’s fine, you’ve done more than enough already, but I can’t leave.” 

“This is something Albus put you up to, isn’t it?” 

Harry nodded silently. 

“Nice job is it? Easy? Something you’d expect an unqualified kid to do without overstretching themselves?” 

Ron snorted, and even Draco’s lips tilted up. Hermione looked worried, her body tense in the chair. 

“No,” Harry admitted. “But I’ve still got to do it.” 

“Got to? You haven’t got to do anything, Potter. Albus is _dead,_ the Order is _finished_. The Dark Lord has already won! Save yourself before it’s too late. Albus wouldn’t care, Potter. He never cared about anything but his own self.” 

“Professor Dumbledore cared about Harry very much,” Hermione corrected, her voice low. 

“Did he, now?” Aberforth asked, looking oddly amused. “Funny thing, how many of the people my brother cared about, ended up in a worse state than if he’d left them well alone.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Aberforth glared at Hermione for a moment. 

“My sister, my Ari, was attacked by Muggles when she was a baby, only six years old. It destroyed her, what they did; she was never right again. She wouldn’t use her magic, but she couldn’t get rid of it, and it drove her mad. 

“I was her favourite though. She loved me, and I loved her. When our parents died, Albus was supposed to take care of her, but he was too busy making doe eyes at dear old Gellert to notice her. 

“There was a fight. I don’t know who cast the spell that killed her. It could have been me, could have been Albus, could have been Grindelwald, but it was Albus who brought him into our lives in the first place. 

“Ariana died, because he messed around with the wrong person. She died, because of _him._ ”

“I’m so sorry you lost her,” Hermione said quietly. 

Aberforth shook his head. “Of course, Grindelwald scarpered immediately after it happened. And Albus, Albus was free, wasn’t he? He hated being tied down by Ari and me, but without her, he could go off and be brilliant with nobody to hinder him.” 

His bitterness was palpable, not that Harry could really blame him for it. That didn’t stop him from feeling the need to correct Aberforth’s assumptions. 

“He was never free.” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Never,” Harry said. “The night that he died, he drank a potion that drove him out of his mind. He started screaming, pleading with someone that wasn’t there. _‘Don’t hurt them, please… hurt me instead’._ ” 

Ron, Hermione and Draco stared at Harry. He’d never gone into what happened the night Dumbledore died. The events that had happened when they returned to the castle had thoroughly eclipsed the before. 

“He was being tortured by his memories. If you’d seen him, you’d know he was never free of that.” 

Aberforth contemplated him for a moment. “How can you be so sure, Potter, that my brother wasn’t more interested in the greater good, than in you? How can you be sure that you’re not dispensable, just like my little sister?” 

A painful stab hit Harry in the chest, because he wasn’t sure of that. He hadn’t been for months. 

“Sometimes,” he said slowly, “Sometimes, you have to think more about the greater good than your own safety. Sometimes, you have to put the needs of the many before the needs of the few. This is war!” 

“You’re seventeen, boy!” 

“I’m of age, and I’m going to keep on fighting even if you’ve given up!” 

“Who said I’ve given up?” 

“ _The Order is finished,_ ” Harry parroted. “ _The Dark Lord has already won._ Sounds like you’ve given up to me.” 

“I don’t say I like it, but it’s the truth!” Aberforth snapped, shaking his head. 

“No. It isn’t,” Draco put in, surprising Harry. “Harry has the knowledge of how to end the war, and he has the strength of will to implement it and bring it to an end. We need a way into the castle, and if you can’t do that, then we’ll find a way ourselves.” 

They waited for Aberforth to jeer or argue, but he didn’t. He looked between them and then, with a heavy sigh, turned his eyes on a portrait of a young girl. Harry assumed her to be Ariana, the blue eyes were very reminiscent of Albus and Aberforth. 

“You know what to do,” he said, nodding to her. 

She smiled and turned away. It was strange. She didn’t want through the side of the frame, like magical portraits usually did, but rather she walked into what seemed like a long tunnel behind her.

They watched her retreat until they couldn’t see her anymore. 

“Erm, what?” Ron asked, frowning at the picture. 

“There’s only one way in and out now,” Aberforth said. “They’ve blocked up all the passages that used to be there, there’s Dementors all around the boundary line, and regular patrols inside the school from what I’ve been told. With Snape and the Carrows in charge… well. You're going to need all the luck you can get.” 

“But… what’s that got to do with… that?” Hermione asked, pointing at the frame. 

“You’ll see.” 

They waited, all eyes on the frame, until a dot appeared in the middle. It grew and grew until they could make Ariana out, walking towards them growing bigger and bigger as she neared. 

But she wasn’t alone. 

Harry had never seen anything like it, and as the familiar figure neared, limping, bloodied but with excitement clear in every step, Harry’s mouth fell open in shock. 

The portrait swung open, and the entrance to a real tunnel was revealed. Out of it, with hair overgrown, face cut, and robes ripped, clambered Neville Longbottom. 

He gave a roar of delight and leapt down from the mantlepiece, and yelled, “I knew you’d come! I knew it, Harry!”

“Neville?” Harry asked, before being squeezed tightly in a hug. “How, what, I don’t—” 

Neville spotted Ron and Hermione and forgoing an answer, he stepped over and hugged the two of them too, grinning ear to ear the entire time. 

The longer Harry looked at Neville, the worse he appeared; one of his eyes was swollen, yellow and purple, and there were gouge marks on his face. He looked like he’d been living rough. 

Nevertheless, his battered visage shone with happiness as he let go of Hermione. “I knew you’d come! Kept telling Seamus it was just a matter of time!” 

He caught sight of Draco and paused, looking from Harry to Draco and back. 

“He’s with us,” Harry said firmly. “Neville, what happened to you?” 

“What, this?” Neville dismissed his injuries with a shake of his head. “This is nothing. You should see Seamus. He’s worse off, you’ll see. Shall we get going then? Oh,” he turned to Aberforth. “Abe, there might be a couple more people on the way.” 

“Couple more?” Aberforth repeated, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean, Longbottom? There’s a curfew, and I’m probably not going to get away with the same trick twice in a row!” 

“I know, that’s why they’ll be Apparating directly into the bar. Just send them along when they get here, will you?” 

Neville held a hand out to Hermione and helped her to climb up onto the mantelpiece and into the tunnel. Ron followed and then Neville. 

Harry looked at Aberforth. “I don’t know how to thank you. That’s twice you’ve saved us tonight.” 

“Look after yourself then,” Aberforth replied grimly. “I might not be able to do it a third time.” 

Harry nodded and clambered up onto the mantle, holding a hand out to pull Draco up behind him. There were smooth stone steps on the other side; it looked like the passage had been there for years. 

“How long has this been here?” Ron asked, as they set off. “It’s not on the map, is it, Harry?” 

“Never mind that,” Neville said, waving a hand. “Is it true? Did you really break into Gringotts and escape on a dragon?” 

“Yeah, it’s true,” Harry replied quietly. 

Neville laughed gleefully. “What did you do with the dragon?” 

“Released it into the wild,” Ron retorted. “Poor thing had been tortured. Charlie will have kittens when I tell him about it; and Bill better hide from him too.” 

“What have you been doing though?” Neville asked, looking between them. “People have been saying that you run, Harry, but I never believed that. I think you’ve been up to something.” 

“You’re right,” Harry replied. “But tell us about Hogwarts, Neville. We haven’t heard anything.” 

“It’s been… well. It’s not really like Hogwarts, now,” Neville replied, the smile falling from his face. “The Carrows are in charge of the discipline, and… they enjoy punishments, the Carrows.” 

“Like Umbridge?” 

“Nah, they make her look like a puppy. The other teachers are all supposed to refer us to the Carrows if we do anything wrong, but they don’t, if they can help it. You can tell they hate them as much as we do.

“We’re supposed to practise using the Cruciatus on people who’ve earned detentions—” 

“What?” the four of them gasped, their united voices echoing in the tunnel. 

As Neville told them more about the new regime in Hogwarts, Harry felt guilt threatening to pour out of him; it was so strong. All of his friends, all of those children, tortured while he’d been sitting out in a field, not working hard enough to put an end to it all. 

“None of this is your fault,” Draco whispered, close to his ear so the words were just for Harry. 

Harry felt Draco’s hand settle on the small of his back and his twitching nerves settled a little under the touch. 

The passage began to slope upwards. 

“We’re heading into the Room of Requirement,” Neville told them. “It’s… a lot more than any of us ever knew it could be, but it’s saved quite a few of our lives this year, I can tell you.” 

They turned a corner and there ahead of them with the end of the passage. Another short flight of stairs, led to a door, which Neville pushed open. 

“Look who it is! Didn’t I tell you?” 

As they emerged into the room, there were several screams and yells. 

“HARRY!” 

“It’s Potter! IT’S POTTER!” 

“Ron!” 

“Hermione!” 

“HARRY!” 

“ _Malfoy_?” 

There was a confusing amount of people, surrounded by colourful hangings, lamps, and what looked like beds and hammocks strewn around the room. 

The moment they stepped out of the passage, they were engulfed with warm hands, being hugged tightly, their backs patted, and cheerful yelling of welcome. Draco hung back by the opening, until Harry freed himself and stepped back, grabbing his hand and pulling him closer. 

“Tell us what you’ve been up to, Harry!” Ernie called as people started to settle down, all looking at them eagerly for news. “There’s been so many rumours on Potterwatch! You didn’t actually break into Gringotts?!” 

“They did,” Neville said, grinning wildly. “And the dragon’s true, too!” 

There was a smattering of applause and a few whoops. 

“What were you after?” Seamus asked, eagerly. 

Before any of them could parry the question, Harry felt a terrible, scorching pain in his scar. He stumbled backwards into Draco, and turned away from the curious faces. 

The Room of Requirement vanished, and he was standing inside a ruined stone shack. The rotting floorboards were pulled up and an empty golden box lay open beside the hole. 

Voldemort’s screen of fury vibrated inside his head. 

With an enormous effort, he pulled back into his own mind and tightened his grip on Draco’s arm for a moment, his head swimming. He felt nauseous, and swallowed hard against the threatening bile. 

“Are you alright, Harry?” Neville was asked, his tone worried. “Want to sit down? You must all be tired.” 

“No,” Harry replied, looking from Draco to Ron and Hermione, trying to tell them without words that they needed to speed this up. “We need to get going.” 

“What are we going to do, Harry?” Seamus asked, excitement palpable. “What’s the plan?” 

“Plan?” Harry asked. “There’s something we need to find, and then we’ll be out of here.” 

Nobody was laughing or cheering anymore. 

“What do you mean, you’ll be out of here?” Neville asked, confused. 

“We haven’t come back to stay,” Harry replied shortly, rubbing his still burning scar. “There’s something important we need to do—” 

“What is it?” 

“I can’t tell you.” 

There was a ripple of dissention. 

“Why can’t you tell us? It’s something to do with fighting You-Know-Who, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Then we’ll help you.” 

The other members of Dumbledore’s Army that surrounded them nodded eagerly. 

“You don’t understand,” Harry implored. “We have a job to finish and a limited time to finish it. We can’t tell you, but we’ve got to get it done and fast.” 

“Everyone in here’s proven their loyalty to you, Harry. To Dumbledore. We want to help end this.” 

“Look,” Harry said, tone firm. Before he could continue, the door to the passage swung open, and more and more people stepped through. 

Fred and George grinned openly at him, even as they reached out to snag Ron into a hug. 

“What, what’s going on?” Harry asked, looking at the newcomers. 

“We got the message,” George replied cheerfully. “That the time has come to fight. There’s more on the way.” 

“What? NO!” Harry shouted. “That’s not what we’re here for! We’re in and out, no fighting, not yet!” 

“Why can’t they help?” Ron said suddenly, turning to Harry. 

“What?” Harry blinked, because that was probably the least helpful comment Ron had ever made in his _life._

“They can help,” Ron repeated, dropping his voice. He shifted so that he was facing Harry and Draco. “We don’t know what we’re looking for and we don’t know where it is. We don’t have to tell them it’s a Horcrux.” 

Harry looked to Ron and Hermione and then to Draco, who was nodding slowly. 

Harry thought fast. Dumbledore had warned him against telling anyone but Ron and Hermione, but he’d already broken that when he told Draco, and that hadn’t been a mistake, had it? 

“Okay,” he called over the noise of people greeting each other. “New plan.” 

The room quieted, all looking to Harry for instruction. 

“There’s something we need to find,” Harry said. “Something that’ll help us overthrow You-Know-Who. It’s here at Hogwarts, but we don’t know where. It might have belonged to a Rowena Ravenclaw. Has anyone heard of an object like that? Has anyone ever come across anything with an eagle on it, for instance?” 

He looked hopefully at the little group of Ravenclaws. 

Padma tilted her head. “There’s the lost diadem,” she suggested. 

“The problem with that is the lost part,” said Michael Corner, rolling his eyes. 

“When was it lost?” Harry asked. 

“Centuries ago, they say,” Cho said, and Harry’s heart sank. “Professor Flitwick says the diadem vanished with Ravenclaw herself. People have looked but nobody’s ever found a trace of it.” 

“Sorry, but what _is_ a diadem?” Ron asked, frowning. 

“It’s sort of like a crown,” Cho replied. “Ravenclaw’s was supposed to have magical properties, enhancing the wisdom of the wearer.” 

“The Grey Lady,” Draco suggested suddenly. “Ravenclaw’s ghost. She might be able to help?” 

“She doesn’t really talk to anyone,” Padma said, shaking her head disappointedly. 

“If you want to see what it looks like, there’s a statue of her wearing it in the common room, Harry?” Cho suggested. “I could show you?” 

Harry looked at Ron and Hermione and shrugged. “Can’t hurt, can it?” 

“I’m coming with you,” Draco said, shooting Cho a distasteful look. 

“You should stay here with—” 

“I’m coming with you,” Draco repeated. “Chang, you’re not necessary, I know where the Ravenclaw Common is.” 

“We won’t fit under the cloak,” Harry muttered. 

Draco just stared at him, unimpressed, until Harry rolled his eyes. 

“You’re a pain in the ass.” 

“How do we get out?” Harry asked Neville. 

“Over here,” Neville said, leading them to a corner, where a small cupboard opened on a steep staircase. 

“Get under,” Harry said, sweeping the cloak around them and tucking close to Draco. He gave the wall a little push and it melted away under his hand. They were standing in a dark corridor. 

Harry fumbled in the pouch around his neck for the map and opened it quickly, searching under wandlight for his and Draco’s dots. 

He found them finally, and checked the rest of the map for anyone that they didn’t want to run into. 

“We’re on the fifth floor,” he whispered to Draco. “Come on, let’s go.” 

They crept off, stooping to keep themselves covered. He’d prowled the castle at night so many times, and yet never before had his heart pounded so hard in his chest. Never before did the shadows look so threatening. 

“This way,” Draco said, tugging on Harry’s sleeve, pulling him towards a spiral staircase. They climbed in tight, dizzying circles until they reached a door. There was no handle, just a plain expanse of aged wood and a bronze, eagle shaped knocker. 

Draco reached out a hand and knocked once. 

At once, the beak of the eagle opened, and a musical voice asked, “What came first, the phoenix or the flame?” 

“Isn’t there just a password?” Harry asked, bemused. 

“No, you’ve got to answer a question first, hush, let me think.” 

Harry stood, tense while Draco pondered the question. Finally, the blond spoke. “A circle has no beginning.” 

“Well reasoned,” the voice agreed and the door swung open. 

The deserted common room was wide and circular, airier than any Harry had ever seen at Hogwarts. The statue stood beside a door which Harry guessed led to the dorms, and he stepped out from under the cloak to get a better look at it. 

“Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure,” he murmured, reading from the stone. 

“That makes you pretty skint, witless,” said a cackling voice. 

Harry whirled around, slipping off the plinth as he did. Alecto Carrow stood before him, and even as Harry raised his wand, she pressed a stubby forefinger to the skull and snake branded on her forearm. 

The moment her finger touched the mark, Harry’s scar burned red hot and savage. 

_They have the boy._

A loud bang brought Harry back before he could sink too far, and he opened his eyes, disoriented. Alecto was lying on the floor, sprawled inelegantly on her front. 

Draco had the cloak off, and his wand in his hand, looking down at her with his lip curled in a sneer. 

“Thanks,” Harry murmured. 

The noise drew the attention of the students still in the dorms, and they barely managed to get under the cloak before feet were pounding towards them. A crowd gathered quickly. 

“I think she might be dead!” one of the younger students called gleefully. 

There was a rap on the door, and every Ravenclaw froze. The musical voice of the eagle asked, “Where do vanished objects go?” 

“I dunno, do I? Shut it!” snarled an uncouth voice that Harry knew belonged to the Carrow brother, Amycus. “Alecto? _Alecto_? Are you there? Have you got him? Open the door!”

The Ravenclaws were whispering amongst themselves, terrified. Then, without warning, there was a string of loud bangs as Amycus pounded on the door. 

“ALECTO! If he comes and we haven’t got Potter - ANSWER ME!” Amycus bellowed, shaking the door for all he was worth. 

It did not open. 

The Ravenclaws were all backing away, and some of the most frightened began scampering back up the staircase to their beds. Then, just as Harry was wondering whether he should just blast the door open and stun Amycus himself, a second, more familiar voice rang out beyond the door. 

“May I ask what you are doing, Professor Carrow?” 

“Trying to get through the damned door!” shouted Amycus. “Go and get Flitwick to come and open the damn thing!” 

“But isn’t your sister in there already?” asked Professor McGonagall. 

“She ain’t answering, is she? You open it! Garn! Do it, now!” 

“Certainly, if you wish it,” said Professor McGonagall, with awful coldness. 

The musical voice asked the question again. 

“Into non-being, which is to say, everything.” 

The knocker complimented her phrasing and then the door swung open once more. The few Ravenclaws that had remained in the common room sprinted for the dorms as Amycus burst over the threshold. 

Hunched like his sister, he had a pallid, doughy face and tiny eyes, which fell at once to Alecto’s prone figure on the ground. 

“What’ve they done, the little whelps?” he screamed. “I’ll cruciate the lot of ‘em! What’s the Dark Lord going to say?! We haven’t got him, and they’ve gorn and killed her!” 

“She’s only stunned,” said Professor McGonagall impatiently. “She’ll be perfectly fine.” 

“No, she bludgering well won’t!” bellowed Amycus, brandishing his wand around. “Not after the Dark Lord gets ahold of her! She’s gorn and sent for him, I felt me mark burn, and he thinks we’ve got Potter!” 

“Got Potter?” asked Professor McGonagall, sharply. “What do you mean, got Potter?” 

“He told us Potter might try and get into Ravenclaw Tower, and to send for ‘im if we caught him!” 

“Why would Harry Potter try and get into Ravenclaw? Potter belongs in my house!” 

Beneath the disbelief and anger, Harry heard pride from his Head of House, and he felt a burst of warmth and affection for her. 

“We can push it off on the kids,” Amycus said, his pig-like face suddenly crafty. “Say she was ambushed by the kids, thay the made her press the mark, that’s what we’ll do—” 

“You will not,” Professor McGonagall said, eyes narrowed and hatred clear. “You are not going to push your ineptitude off onto the students of Hogwarts, not on my watch! I shall not permit it!” 

“Excuse me?” Amycus moved forwards until he was offensively close to Professor McGonagall. She refused to back away, but looked down at him as though he was something disgusting she’d found on the bottom of her shoe. 

“It’s not a case of what you’ll permit, Minerva McGonagall. Your time’s over. It’s us what’s in charge here now, and you’ll back me up or you’ll pay the price.” 

And he spat in her face. 

Harry ducked from under the cloak, his heart pounding in his ears, his rage burning almost as much as his scar. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Harry growled. 

Amycus swirled around, but before he could even raise his wand, Harry shouted, “Crucio!” 

The Death Eater was lifted off his feet and slammed back into the wall. He writhed through the air, thrashing and howling in pain, and then he landed on the ground in a crumpled heap, broken glass scattered around him. 

“I see what Bellatrix meant,” Harry muttered. “You really need to mean them.” 

Draco pulled the cloak off and sighed, raising his eyebrow at Harry. “You’re a dramatic shit.” 

He raised his wand and bound the Carrows in thick rope. 

“Potter?” Professor McGonagall whispered, clutching her heart. “You’re… you’re here! Potter that was foolish!” 

“He spat at you!” 

“Potter, I— That was very gallant of you, but don’t you realise— ?” 

“Yeah, I do,” Harry assured her. “Voldemort’s on his way.” 

“The taboo,” Draco groaned. 

“I don’t think it matters much now,” Harry shrugged. “He already knows where I am. Nothing for it now, I think.” 

“You must flee,” Professor McGonagall said urgently. “You must flee, as quickly as you can!” 

“I can’t,” Harry replied. “I need to find the diadem of Ravenclaw.” 

“The diadem… Potter, that was lost centuries ago!” 

“I know.” 

She stared at him for a long moment. “If You-Know-Who does indeed know that you are here—” 

As she said it, a wrath that was like physical pain blazed through Harry, setting his scar alight once more, and only Draco’s hands held him upright once more. 

Harry looked down into an empty basin and saw that no golden locket lay safe beneath the surface— 

“Potter, are you all right?” said a voice, and Harry was back. 

“Time’s running out,” he panted. “He’s getting closer. Professor, I’m acting on Dumbledore’s orders, I must find what he wanted me to find, but we need to get the students out of the castle while I’m searching. It’s me he wants, but he won’t care who he has to go through to get to me.” 

“You’re acting on _Dumbledore’s_ orders?” she repeated, with a look of dawning wonder. Then she drew herself up to her fullest height. “We shall secure the school against You-Know-Who while you search for… this object.” 

“Is that possible?” 

“I think so,” she replied dryly. “We teachers are rather good at magic, you know.” 

Harry nodded and turned back to Draco. “We need to find the Grey Lady. She might have something more solid to give us to work with.” 

“I’ll help Professor McGonagall with the students,” Draco offered. “We can lead them through the passage into the Hog’s Head. If You-Know-Who is concentrating on you and on the school, he isn’t going to give a flying fuck about what’s going on in Hogsmeade, is he?” 

“Colourful, but a good point,” McGonagall agreed. 

“Find Ron and Hermione,” Harry added. “And stay with them so I can find you all when I’ve spoken to her, okay?” 

Draco nodded. 

Harry turned away, but Draco called him back. “You’ll need the cloak?” 

“Keep it,” Harry replied. “If you get yourself caught or killed, I’ll save you and kill you myself, understand?” 

Draco stared at him for a long moment before he nodded. “Back at you, Potter.” 

… 

Harry snuck through the school, keeping to the shadows as best he could, grateful that the corridors were empty for the most part. He kept one eye on the map, almost turning back when he saw Professor McGonagall and Draco run into Snape. 

He could have cried tears of relief when he found Nearly Headless Nick floating close to the third floor. 

“Nick,” he called out. “Nick, can you help me? I need to find The Grey Lady.” 

“Harry Potter! Welcome back, young man! If you require ghostly services, I am at your aid!” 

“Sorry, Nick, it’s gotta be her. Do you know where I can find her?” 

“She spends much of her time on the Ravenclaw courtyard, Harry,” Nick replied, sounding a little affronted. 

Harry nodded and raced off again. The students were beginning to fill the corridors and he had to weave around them. He ignored the whispers and shouts of his name, and moved as quickly as he could through the growing crowds. 

When he arrived at the courtyard, he found it empty and he growled with frustration. 

Before he could move any further, a high, cold voice sounded clearly, echoing slightly in the hallways. 

“I know that you are preparing to fight.” 

Harry could hear distant screams from the hall, and he turned to look around him. He had no idea where the voice was coming from, but it was unmistakable who it belonged to. 

“Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood. Give me Harry Potter, and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded.” 

There was a pause, and then, “You have until midnight.” 

The silence rang in the absence of his voice, and Harry checked his watch to see it had just struck eleven. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement, and when he turned, it was to find the Grey Lady watching him with suspicion. 

“You are the Potter boy,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “You should not be in the castle, Harry Potter.” 

“I need your help,” he implored, stepping towards her. “Can you tell me anything about the diadem of Ravenclaw?” 

A cold smile curved her lips. “I am afraid,” she said, turning to leave, “that I cannot help you.” 

“Wait,” Harry shouted, following after her. “It’s urgent! If that diadem is at Hogwarts, I’ve got to find it, fast.” 

“You are hardly the first student to come to me in search of the diadem,” she said disdainfully. “Generations of students have begged and badgered—” 

“This isn’t about trying to get better marks!” Harry replied, frustrated. “It’s about Voldemort — defeating Voldemort — or aren’t you interested in that?” 

The question clearly ruffled her feathers and she spluttered over her words in her anger, denying his. “How dare you suggest—” 

“Then help me!” 

“It’s not a question of—My mother’s diadem—” 

“Your mother’s?” 

“When I lived, I was Helena Ravenclaw.” 

“You’re her daughter?” Harry gasped out. “Then you must know what happened to it!” 

“While the diadem undoubtedly bestow’s wisdom, I highly doubt it will help your—” 

“It’s not about wearing it,” Harry said. “It’s too much to explain, but I need to find it and destroy it.” 

“I stole the diadem,” she said quietly. “I sought to make myself cleverer, more important than my mother. I was jealous. I ran away with it.” 

Harry didn’t know what had made her change her mind, but he listened carefully as she told a story of a childhood ridden with bitterness and jealousy, of running away. She told him of a bad tempered man chasing her down, only for him to kill her savagely when she spurned him. 

“And… the diadem?” 

“It remained where I had hidden it when I heard the Baron blundering towards me. Concealed inside a hollow tree.” 

“A hollow tree?” Harry repeated. “What tree? Where?” 

He had a feeling he already knew the answer to his question, only needed for her to confirm his theory. 

“You’ve told another student this story, haven’t you?” He asked, his tone soft, almost gentle. 

She closed her eyes and nodded. 

“I had no idea… he was so… he was flattering, and he… he seemed to… to understand.” 

Of course he did, Harry thought bitterly. He’d been a fantastic actor, even at a young age. It was all too easy to picture Tom Riddle feigning interest in the young lady as a way to gain her favour; and her knowledge. 

But of course, the diadem couldn’t be left in some hollowed out tree in Albania once it contained a piece of his soul. But when… 

“—The night he applied for the job!” Harry exclaimed, the puzzle pieces slotting together in one. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“He hid the diadem in the school, the night he came and asked Dumbledore for the job. He had to have known that Dumbledore wasn’t going to let him teach the students, but he still came back anyway.” 

Harry turned away, calling a hurried thank you over his shoulder. He made his way down the corridor, checking the map systematically, searching for any sign of Ron, Hermione or Draco. He couldn’t help but think about the statue of Ravenclaw in the tower. 

It looked oddly familiar, but he was struggling to remember where he had seen something like it before. As he reached the end of the corridor, he was slammed with the memory of a stone effigy; that of an ugly old warlock, onto whose head Harry himself had placed a wig and a battered, old tiara. 

The shock shot through Harry and he nearly stumbled. 

He knew, at last, where the Horcrux sat waiting for him. 

… 

Harry ran. He ran as fast as he could, bending and weaving and ducking out of the way of crowds of people. 

He passed Neville and Sprout and a bunch of others all carrying pots. “Mandrakes!” Neville shouted, grinning at him. “They won’t like these!” 

He passed Fred and a small knot of students, including Lee and Hannah, standing beside the statue of the one eyed witch. 

“Nice night for it!” Fred called, when Harry passed as the castle gave a sudden, terrifying shake. Harry looked down at his watch to see it tick just past midnight. 

The battle was starting. 

Harry skidded around another corner, only to run headlong into Ron. “Oh thank fuck,” he muttered, when Draco and Hermione appeared beside him. “I know what and where it is and we need to go!” 

“You made progress then,” Draco said dryly, as Harry set off again at a rapid pace, the others fighting to keep up with him. 

“He hid it exactly where I hid my old potions book,” Harry replied. “In the room of hidden things.” 

“Where the vanishing cabinet—” 

“That’s the one,” Harry agreed. They reached the seventh floor as the walls trembled again, dust shaking down over them from the ceiling. 

They came to the room, only to find three people still inside it. 

Ginny, Tonks and an elderly witch that could only be Neville’s grandmother if the hat she was wearing was any indication. 

“Ah, Potter,” she said crisply, as if she’d been waiting for him. “Good. You can tell us what’s going on.” 

“Is everyone okay?” Ginny and Tonks asked together. 

“As far as we know,” said Harry. “Are there still people in the passage to the Hog’s Head?” 

He knew he wouldn’t be able to change the room until it was empty. 

“I was the last to come through it,” Mrs Longbottom said. “I sealed it, I think it unwise to leave it open now that Aberforth has left his pub. Have you seen my grandson?” 

“He’s fighting,” said Harry. 

“Naturally,” said the old lady proudly. “I must go and assist him.” 

With surprising speed, she trotted off. 

“I’m going to find Remus,” Tonks said, heading off in the same direction. 

“Ginny, we need you to leave the room, just for a little while,” Ron said. “Then you’ve gotta come back in as soon as we’re done or Mum will kill me dead.” 

Ginny looked delighted to leave the room and she ran off to follow Tonks. 

“You’ve got to come back in!” Ron bellowed after her. He groaned when she went out of sight. “Mum’s really gonna dead me dead for that one.” 

They all stepped out of the room and watched the door shrink away, and then Harry paced the wall. 

_I need the place where everything is hidden._

On his third pass, the door materialised. Harry pushed the door open and the four of them stepped inside. The furore of the battle died the moment the door closed behind them, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. 

“This way,” Harry said, leading them down one of the many aisles. They passed the stuffed troll and the vanishing cabinet. Harry felt Draco shiver behind him at the sight of it and he briefly paused to squeeze his hand in comfort. 

He couldn’t remember exactly where it was, so he turned to the others. “Split up,” he said. “Look for a stone bust of an old man wearing a wig and a tiara. It’s standing on a cupboard and it’s definitely in here somewhere.” 

Ron and Hermione went one way and Draco and Harry the other, each looking on one side of the many stacks of random objects. Deeper and deeper into the room they went, Harry searching out objects he recognised from his previous visit. 

There, right ahead, was the blistered old cupboard in which he had hidden his old Potions book, and on top of it, the pock-marked stone warlock, wearing a dusty old wig, and the lost diadem of Ravenclaw. 

He had already stretched out a hand when a voice behind him said, “Hold it, Potter.” 

He skidded to a halt and turned around. 

Crabbe and Goyle were standing, shoulder to shoulder, with their wand out in front of them. They weren’t looking at Harry though, their eyes were on Draco. 

“Why’d you do it, Dray? Why’d you abandon us?” Goyle asked, brow furrowed. 

“He killed my _mother_ ,” Draco replied, shakily. Harry noticed that his wand was steady though. He gripped his own and started slowly treading backwards. 

“We’re gonna be rewarded,” Crabbe said, a small smile on his face. “If you help us with him, we’ll say you caught ‘im. You’ll be rewarded too.” 

Draco shook his head as Harry took another step backwards. “I can’t do that. You should both leave. I don’t want to hurt either of you but I will if you force me too.” 

“You’re gonna protect _him,_ Draco?” Goyle asked, and Harry felt the tiniest bit of pity at the sheer amount of betrayal, both in his voice and on his face. “We were by your side for _years!”_

“Change sides,” Draco implored, knowing it was pointless but needing to try. “I’ll help you. When this is over, I’ll get you a good lawyer, I’ll help you, I promise.” 

Crabbe snorted. “When this is over, we’ll be treated like kings for being the ones to hand over the precious _Chosen One_!”

“How did you even find us?” 

“We were in the corridor. We can do Diss-lusion Charms now! And then, you turned up right in front of us and said you were looking for a die-dum. What’s a die-dum?” 

“Harry?” Ron’s voice echoed suddenly from the other side of the walk to Harry’s right. 

With a whip like movement, Crabbe pointed his wand at the fifty-foot mountain of old furniture and shouted, “Descendo!” 

The wall began to totter, then crumbled into the aisle next to where Ron stood. 

“Ron!” Harry screamed. “Finite!” 

The mountain steadied. 

“Harry! What’s going on?” Ron called again .

“Harry?” Crabbe mocked. “What’s going—No, Potter! Crucio!” 

Harry had lunged for the diadem. Crabbe’s curse missed but hit the stone bust, which flew up into the air; the diadem soared upwards and then dropped out of sight. 

“Stop it!” Malfoy shouted. “Just stop!” 

Ron and Hermione run around the corner and shot stunning spells, both missing but crashing into objects which blew apart on contact. They didn’t have time for this! And they certainly couldn’t— 

“It’s the Mudblood! Avada Kedavra!” 

Harry saw Hermione dive aside and the fury that Crabbe had aimed to kill wiped all thoughts of control from his mind. He shot a stunning spell at Crabbe that missed by inches. 

“Expelliarmus,” he cried, lifting Goyle’s wand from his hand before he could cast another spell. Ron shot off two body binding spells, both of which missed. 

Crabbe cast the killing curse again, shooting at random now. He didn’t seem to care who he killed as long as someone fell at his wand. 

Harry scrambled over the pile of rubbish to find the Diadem. He caught sight of it, just as he heard Hermione scream his name. 

A roaring, billowing noise behind him gave him a moment’s warning. He turned and saw both Ron and Crabbe running as hard as they could up the aisle towards them. 

“Like it hot, scum?” Crabbe hollered as he ran. 

But he seemed to have no control over what he’d done. Flames of abnormal size were pursuing them, licking up the sides of the junk piles, which were crumbling to soot and ash at their touch. 

“Aguamenti,” Harry shouted, but the jet of water that soared from the tip of his wand evaporated in the air. 

“DRACO!” Harry screamed. 

The blond chose that moment to run around the other side of the aisle towards Harry. 

“RUN!” 

Goyle appeared behind them, and Harry couldn’t even find it in him to care that their enemy was at their back, he simply grabbed Draco’s hand and chased after Ron, Hermione and Crabbe. 

The fire clearly wasn’t normal though Harry had no knowledge of such a thing. It was mutating behind them and around them, chimaeras and dragons rose and fell and rose again. 

Harry pulled them to a stop when he realised that the fire was circling them, almost as if it was playing with them, a fatal game of tag that he wasn’t interested in playing. 

“What do we do?” Hermione cried. 

“Here,” Draco yelled, seizing a heavy pair of broomsticks from a pile of junk. He handed one off to Ron, who pulled Hermione onto the back and took off, and sat on the other, waiting the second Harry needed to jump onto the back. 

The smoke and the heat were overwhelming as they navigated the jumping flames, and Harry held tight to Draco’s waist as he swirled and dipped and dodged. They were almost at the exit when they heard a piteous moan from amid the terrifying roar of the flames. 

“Harry—” 

“Save them,” Harry said, regretting it the moment it left his mouth but not wanting to retract the words. 

Harry heard Ron shout in anger at them but Draco was already swerving to where they could just see Goyle trapped against the wall. 

They reached him just in time and Harry pulled him onto the broom. 

“Go, go, go,” he urged Draco, fear choking him in a way the smoke could not. 

They were almost out when Harry saw it, the diadem thrown up by the flames. He pointed it out to Draco and the broom swerved, just enough for Harry to catch it around his wrist before they were flying for the door. 

Moments later, clean air filled their lungs as Draco crash landed them onto the floor of the corridor. 

Harry fell off the broom, Goyle doing the same, and Draco seemed to just collapse in on himself against the wall. 

Harry wrist stung where the diadem lay and he shook it off onto the stone floor, as they all gasped for air, coughing and spluttering. 

“Crabbe,” Draco choked out, closing his eyes and pressing his hand hard against them. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured, pressing his hand to the back of Draco’s neck. Draco leant into the touch as they all caught their breath. Goyle seemed to have fallen unconscious, but Harry had no wish to wake him so he left him there, rolled against the wall as he was. 

He turned his attention back to the diadem and his eyes widened when he saw a blood like substance, dark and tarry leaking from it 

Suddenly, it vibrated violently and broke apart and as it did so, Harry could have sworn he heard a faint scream of pain, echoing from the fragmented tiara. 

“It must have been Fiendfyre,” whimpered Hermione, her eyes on the broken pieces. 

“What?” Harry asked. 

“It’s one of the substances that can destroy Horcruxes, but I would have never dared to use it, it’s so dangerous.” 

“Cursed fire,” Draco added, when Harry still looked a little confused. “I can’t believe Crabbe would—the Carrows must have really taught him some stuff this year.” 

“But that’s… it’s done,” Ron said. “The diadem, it’s…” 

“That’s all of them,” Harry confirmed. “Except for the worst one. The one in his body.” 

“You have to find him Harry. Look, look inside and see where he is,” Hermione prompted. 

Harry nodded and closed his eyes. It was so easy to sink into Voldemort’s mind, perhaps because of how much his scar had been hurting since they’d left the bank, he didn’t know. 

Immediately, he wasn’t in the corridor anymore. Instead he was standing in the cool night on Hogwarts grounds. Lucius knelt before him. 

“My Lord,” he said, his voice desperate and cracked. “My Lord… please… my son…” 

“If your son is dead, Lucius, it is not my fault. He chose to leave us, chose to betray us. You are lucky you still have your own life. Perhaps he has decided he is better off at the side of Harry Potter.” 

“No, never,” Lucius whimpered. 

“You must hope not. He had been spotted in the castle, but for which side he fights, we have yet to discover.” 

“Aren’t— Aren’t you afraid, my Lord, that Potter might die at a hand other than yours?” asked Malfoy, his voice shaking. “Wouldn’t it be, forgive me, more prudent to call off this battle, enter the castle and seek him yourself?” 

“Do not pretend, Lucius. You wish the battle to cease so that you can discover what has become of your son. And I do not need to seek Potter. By the end of the night, he will come to me himself.” 

Voldemort dropped his gaze to his wand. It wasn’t working for him still and he knew what he had to do. It was a pity. 

“Go and fetch Snape.” 

“My Lord?” 

“Snape. Now. I need him.” 

Frightened, Lucius stumbled from the room. Voldemort continued to stand there, twirling his wand between his fingers. 

With a gasp, Harry pulled back into his own mind, blinking his eyes open to look at his friends. 

“He’s on the grounds. He told Lucius that I would come to him before the night’s end, so I assume he knows the diadem is gone.” 

“Could you tell where?” 

“I think he was close to the lake, near Dumbledore’s tomb. I’ll find him. You lot… keep yourselves alive, okay? Wait here, and stay alive.” 

“Not a fucking chance,” Ron stated. 

“Absolutely not,” Draco drawled at the same time. 

“It’s me that has to do this,” Harry said quietly. “Only I can kill him. If the three of you come with me, you’re only going to get hurt.” 

“You think he’ll be alone, Harry? You think he won’t let the Death Eater’s torture you until you’re begging him to kill you before he delivers the final blow?” Draco asked, his tone harsh but matter of fact. 

Harry blinked. “You called me Harry.” 

Draco’s cheeks blushed a faint pink. “Don’t get used to it.” 

Before any of them could say anymore, the wall to their left blasted apart and three Death Eaters appeared. Harry scrambled to his feet and raised his wand, the others doing the same. 

Spells flew back and forth, ricocheting everywhere. The side wall of the castle crumbled suddenly and the Death Eaters were buried under a layer of debris. 

“Merlin, we gotta go,” Harry muttered. “Move, move.” 

They’d barely rounded the corner when Voldemort’s voice sounded once more, echoing through the castle. 

“You have fought valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. 

“Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your wounded. 

“I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall punish every last man, woman and child that has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.” 

Ron, Hermione and Draco all shook their heads firmly at Harry. 

“Don’t listen to him, mate,” Ron said. 

“It’ll be alright,” Hermione said. “Let’s… let’s go down to the Great Hall, see who we can find and see what the… what the situation is.” 

Harry heard the words she didn’t say. _Let’s go and find out how many of our friends are still breathing_. He nodded wordlessly and followed them. 

Draco’s hand settled on Harry’s back and he rubbed comfortingly. “We got this, Potter. Don’t fall apart on me now.” 

Harry chuckled tiredly but nodded. 

The smile fell from his face as soon as they reached the hall. So many people were laid out on the floor in columns. Others sat by the dead, tears falling freely as they grieved for their lost loved ones. 

Harry slipped his hand into Draco’s as they approached the Weasleys at the other end of the hall. 

Molly was crying, and for a moment, Harry feared the worst. 

“Oh, you’re okay, thank Merlin,” she uttered when she saw them. She pulled Ron into a tight hug first, squeezing him before she gently pushed him to arms length. “ _Are_ you okay?” 

He nodded, looking around at his family. “Everyone… okay?” he asked. 

“Battered and bruised, but alive,” she confirmed. “We were worried about you.” 

She hugged Hermione next, as Ron stumbled into his dad’s arms, and then Harry, holding him close for a long moment. 

“Don’t you pay his words any mind, Harry Potter,” she warned sternly. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Draco smile faintly. Molly eyed him cautiously for a moment before she offered him a warm smile. 

“And you, dear? Are you okay?” 

Draco nodded, biting his lip silently. 

Harry looked down the row of bodies and his legs threatened to give out from underneath him when he saw a flash of pink hair. 

He pulled his hand from Draco’s and stumbled along the row until he reached Tonks, swallowing bile when he saw Remus lying beside her, their hands touching between them. 

Draco followed him, wrapping an arm around his waist just in time to hold him up when his legs gave way beneath him. 

Harry buried his face into the crook of Draco’s neck and let the tears fall. Remus was the last living link Harry had to his parents and now he was gone too. 

Draco pulled Harry over to a bench and sat him down, rubbing his back comfortingly. “I’m sorry, Harry.” 

Harry nodded, swallowing hard. “Me too.” 

Madam Pomfrey bustled by them. “Oh. Mr Malfoy. I wonder if I could borrow you,” she murmured resting a hand on his shoulder. “I have a few of the students healing the more minor wounds, would you mind helping them?” 

Draco nodded. He had a lot of time and respect for Madam Pomfrey, and during last year, she’d let him spend a lot of his free time in the hospital wing, distracting his mind with healing spells and simple procedures. 

“You’ll be okay?” Draco asked Harry, who nodded. 

“Go, help people,” Harry replied. “I’m… I’m just gonna sit for a while I think.” 

Draco nodded and stood, resting his hand on Harry’s shoulder for a moment. “Don’t do anything that will give me grey hair, you hear me?” 

“I hear you.” 

Draco squeezed his shoulder and then walked away, following Madam Pomfrey. Harry watched him go and then sunk back onto the bench. Ron and Hermione were with the Weasleys, he could see them down the hall, the red hair standing out even in such a crowd. 

For now, they were safe. 

But what about when the hour was up? What would happen then? 

Harry stood up and pulled the invisibility cloak from his pouch, wrapping it around him before anyone noticed. He left the hall swiftly, a single destination in mind. 

… 

The office hadn’t changed much, Harry couldn’t help but notice. He’d half been expecting walls lined with potions ingredients, much the way Snape’s office had been during his tenure as Potions Professor. 

Harry was only there for one purpose though and he strode through the room, eyeing the portrait he needed to speak with. The frame was empty, as they all were, but as soon as Harry laid his hand on the frame, Dumbledore slid into view. 

His eyes twinkled even from the painting, and Harry took a step back. 

“Hello, Professor,” he murmured. 

“Harry, my dear boy,” Dumbledore replied, smiling widely. “Am I correct in thinking that you’ve completed the task I left you?” 

“Almost,” Harry replied. “The horcruxes, they’re gone. I just need to take care of the piece in his body now.”

“I’m so proud of you.” 

“So many people are dead.” 

“People die in war, Harry. The blame for that is not yours to hold, nor is it for you to feel guilt.” 

Harry nodded silently. “I don’t know if I can do this,” he admitted honestly. “I don’t know if I can beat him. He… he’s so strong. He has the Elder Wand.” 

“There is something I did not tell you.” 

Harry looked up to see a sombre expression on Dumbledore’s face. 

“There are a lot of things you didn’t tell me, Sir.” 

Dumbledore nodded. “You are correct of course. Severus… Severus was supposed to give you the last piece of information but, sadly, I believe it is too late for that.” 

His eyes looked over Harry’s shoulder and Harry turned to see a new frame on the wall, with Snape's name written beneath it. There was no portrait present yet, but Harry thought that, given a little time, there would be another headmaster preserved on the wall, having died on the job. 

He didn’t know how to feel about that, and so, he pushed the thought aside. So many people had died this night, and Harry couldn’t cope with processing any of it without falling to pieces. 

He couldn’t afford to shatter. 

Not yet. 

Harry frowned. “Why on earth would Snape have information for me?” 

“He was on the light side the whole time, Harry.” 

“He killed you!” 

“On my own orders. Severus was the one who used the doe patronus to lead you to the sword. He… he will not thank me for telling you this, but Severus was deeply in love with your mother.” 

“He called her a Mudblood,” Harry growled. 

“Yes. A mistake, brought forth by humiliation and anger,” Dumbledore replied. “That does not change the facts for what they are. When Severus realised that Tom had taken the prophecy to mean you and your parents, he sought me out to protect you. Ever since that day, Severus Snape was on your side, Harry.” 

Harry shook his head but he didn’t refute the words. He didn’t have time to argue about Snape. 

“What did you not tell me, Sir?” he asked instead, and the twinkle in the old man’s eyes dwindled. 

“When Voldemort cast that curse on you, when he left you with that scar and his curse rebounded, he left a piece of his soul behind. Attached to you. I’m so sorry my boy. You, Harry. You are Tom Riddle’s final Horcrux.” 

Harry let the words process slowly. He’d known. He always had, ever since he learnt about Horcruxes. It was the only thing that connected the dots, really. The connection between him and Voldemort, the way Harry could almost… sense the Horcruxes. 

“How do I get rid of it?” he asked, after a long pause. 

He knew this too, but he wanted to hear the words. Wanted to hear them outloud. 

“You must die,” Dumbledore said, his voice little more than a whisper. “And Tom himself must be the one to do it.” 

Harry nodded. 

He tried to smile at the portrait, but was sure it was little more than a grimace. 

“I suppose… I suppose I should go,” he said quietly. “I guess I’ll see you a little sooner than I expected to, Sir, in whatever… whatever comes next.” 

“I _am_ sorry, Harry.” 

Harry nodded. He was sorry too. 

… 

Hagrid’s hut loomed in the darkness, as Harry walked across the grounds. He was on the edges of the forest, and he checked his watch. He had ten minutes. 

He’d passed the hall on his way outside, had looked inside for a moment. He wondered if that was a mistake. He’d seen the Weasleys and Hermione, still clustered together, and he’d seen Draco, side by side with Madam Pomfrey, his wand out and a look of utter concentration on his face. 

He was going to break his promise to Draco. He knew that. This… this would certainly be classed as behaviour that could turn the blond hair grey. 

Harry wanted to go to Draco, to make him smile one last time. He wanted to see how it felt to kiss his lips, even if only for a moment. 

Just one second. 

He wished he’d done it before he had to die. 

Reaching into the pouch, he pulled out the Snitch and turned it over between his fingers. He pressed it to his lips and the familiar swirling writing appeared once more. 

_I open at the close._

“I am about to die,” he whispered. 

The metal shell broke open, and in Harry’s palm, lay a black stone. There was a jagged crack running through the middle, but the triangle and the circle were still visible. He turned it in his hand three times, as he’d read so long ago in the tent.

When he opened his eyes, it was to see his mother smiling back at him with tears in her eyes. He looked around and saw his dad and Sirius, and behind him, Remus. 

He wanted to reach out and touch them, but didn’t want to know if his hand would meet them or go through them. 

“You’ve been so brave, sweetheart,” his mum said quietly. 

“You are nearly there,” his dad added. “Very close. We are… so proud of you.” 

Harry nodded. He walked on, his family surrounding him from every side. 

“Does it hurt?” he asked, his voice small and almost childlike. 

“Dying?” Sirius asked. “Not at all. Quicker and easier than falling asleep.” 

Hearing his godfather’s voice was a step too far for Harry and a tear slid down his cheek. He wiped it away hastily. He would not show Tom weakness, not even in this. 

Not even when he was steps away from his own death. 

A breeze swept through the forest, and Harry shivered. 

“You’ll stay with me?” Harry asked. 

“Until the very end,” James promised. 

“They… they can’t see you?” 

“We are part of you,” Sirius said. “Invisible to everyone else.” 

Harry nodded and looked at his mother. “Stay close to me.” 

He walked through the forest. He didn’t know how he knew where to go, but he knew. He could feel Voldemort. It almost felt like he was being pulled towards him, even though every step he took was willing. 

He would do this, for all of the people back in the castle that he loved. He would do this so that when they fought Voldemort, he would be mortal once more. 

Harry slipped through the forest until he could hear voices, muffled by the greenery. 

“He’s going to be so mad,” one voice said quietly. “He expected Potter to come to him.” 

“Come on. Hour’s almost up, we should head back.” 

Harry followed them quietly. 

A fire was burning in the clearing and it’s flickering light fell over the crowd of silent, watching Death Eaters. Some of them were still masked and hooded, others showed their faces. 

Two giants sat on the outskirts of the clearing, like very ugly boulders. 

Every eye was fixed upon Voldemort, who stood with his head bowed, twirling the Elder Wand between his fingers. When the two Death Eaters Harry had followed entered the clearing, Voldemort looked up. 

They shook their heads and stood off to the side. 

“No sign of him, My Lord.” 

Voldemort’s expression did not change. His red eyes seemed to burn brighter in the firelight. 

“I thought he would come,” he said, his eyes on the leaping flames. “I expected him to come.” 

Nobody spoke. 

“I was, it seems… mistaken,” said Voldemort. 

“You weren’t,” Harry said, stepping into the clearing. He slipped his hand into his pocket, dropping the resurrection stone there and took another step forward as his family disappeared around him. 

Voldemort was frozen, staring back at Harry as he took one more step and stopped there. Waiting. 

“HARRY! NO!” 

Harry turned, frowning. He saw Hagrid, bound and trussed against a large tree trunk. There was blood matted in his hair, and he had bruised blossoming across much of the visible skin of his neck, face and arms. 

The branches shook violently as Hagrid struggled. 

“NO! NO! HARRY! WHAT’RE YEH—” 

“QUIET!” 

A Death Eater flicked his wand and Hagrid was silenced, though he continued to struggle against his bindings. 

Harry turned back to Voldemort to see he was still staring at Harry, his head tilted slightly, considering Harry. He looked almost like a curious child in the way he regarded Harry. 

“Harry Potter,” he said softly, his voice carrying in the surrounding silence. “The boy who lived.” 

Nobody moved. They were waiting. Everybody was waiting. Harry stared back at Voldemort, Draco’s face in his mind, the warm, caring look he seemed to reserve only for Harry. 

Voldemort raised his wand. 

Harry watched his mouth form around the spell, and a flash of green light and everything was gone. 

… 

He lay face down, listening to the perfect silence. His aches and pains were more noticeable in their absence than they’d been when he could feel them. 

He pushed himself to his feet and looked around, frowning slightly. It looked like… a train station, oddly enough. 

Strange. 

A noise caught his attention and he turned towards it. It had the form of a small child, curled up on the ground, but it didn’t look like a child. It was strangely deformed, shuddering beneath a seat, as though it had been discarded there, unwanted. 

He took a step towards it, and then stopped. There was something about it that told Harry he didn’t want to go near it. 

“You cannot help.” 

Harry spun around, eyes widening when he found himself face to face with Albus Dumbledore. He wore midnight blue robes, and seemed younger than Harry had ever known him, even though he still had the long, silver hair and beard. 

“Harry,” he murmured, stretching his arms out. Harry couldn’t help but notice his hand was no longer blackened by a curse. “You wonderful boy. You brave, brave man. Let us walk.” 

Harry followed him, his legs moving almost without his permission. 

“But… you’re dead,” he said. 

“Oh yes,” Dumbledore replied. “Quite dead.” 

“Then… I’m dead too?” 

“Ah. That is the question, isn’t it? On the whole, dear boy, I think not.” 

“Not?” Harry repeated. 

“Not,” Dumbledore confirmed, smiling, his eyes twinkling wildly. 

Harry shook his head. “I meant to die! I should have died! I let him kill me!” 

“And that,” Dumbledore said, “is what made all the difference.” 

“Explain,” Harry demanded, his need to know what the hell was going on more important than being polite. 

“But you already know,” Dumbledore replied, infuriatingly. Even in this, he couldn’t just give a straight answer. 

“I let him kill me. So. The part of his soul that was in me… that’s gone?” 

“Oh yes,” Dumbledore replied. “Yes, he destroyed it. Your soul is whole and completely your own, Harry.” 

“But then… if Voldemort used the killing curse on me, and nobody died for me, how can I be alive?” 

“I think you know,” Dumbledore replied. “Think back, remember what he did in his ignorance, his greed.” 

Harry thought. He thought back to his many encounters with the Dark Lord, and suddenly, he realised he did know. A flash of triumph in blue eyes as he recounted what happened in the graveyard appeared in his mind. 

“He took my blood.” 

“Precisely! He took you blood and rebuilt his living body with it. Your blood in his veins, Harry, Lily’s protection inside both of you. He tethered you to life when he took your blood. While he lives, you live. 

“He took your blood believing it would strengthen him. He took into his body a tiny part of the enchantment your mother laid upon you when she died for you. His body keeps her sacrifice alive, and while that enchantment survives, so do you.” 

“And you… you knew this? The whole time?” 

They sat down together, and Harry looked around again. 

“He killed me with your wand,” Harry said after a moment. 

“He failed to kill you with my wand,” Dumbledore corrected softly. 

“Okay. The Deathly Hallows.” 

“Ah.” 

For the first time since Harry had met Dumbledore, he looked less than an old man. He looked like a small boy caught in doing something naughty. 

“Can you forgive me?” he asked. “Can you forgive me for not trusting you with them? Harry, I only feared that you would fail as many have before you, as I failed. I only dreaded that you would make my mistakes.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“The Hallows,” murmured Dumbledore. “A desperate man’s dream. Except they’re real. Real and dangerous and a lure for fools. Am I, ultimately better than Voldemort, when I too sought a way to conquer death?” 

Harry sighed. “It’s not the same. Hallows, not Horcruxes.” 

Dumbledore nodded. “That’s true. Hallows, not Horcruxes.” 

“Why did you have to make it so difficult?” Harry asked then, the question he really wanted answered. Dumbledore had known much more than he’d told Harry, could have given him much more to work with if only he’d taken the time. 

“I am afraid I counted on Miss Granger to slow you down, Harry. I was scared that your hot head would dominate your good heart. I was scared that, if I had presented you outright with the facts about the Hallows, you would seek them out too soon, for the wrong reasons, as I did. You are the true Master of Death, Harry, because the true master doesn’t run from Death. He accepts that he must die, and understand that there are far worse things than dying.” 

“Voldemort never knew about them?” 

“I do not think so, because he didn’t recognise the stone when he turned the ring into a Horcrux. But I think, even had he known of them, he wouldn’t have been interested in any but the wand. What use does Voldemort have for a stone that brings back loved ones? He loves nobody.” 

“Your portrait told me that you planned your death with Snape. That he did it on your orders.” 

“That’s correct.” 

Harry sighed. “Then you intended Snape to be the master of the wand?” 

“Yes. As Voldemort believed him to be, given what he did not so long ago,” Dumbledore agreed, and for the first time, Harry heard genuine remorse in Dumbledore’s tone. 

“That… didn’t work out as you intended, did it?” 

“Not quite, no.” 

Harry nodded. “I’ve got to go back, haven’t I?” 

“Got to? No. If you so choose, you can… go on.” 

“To where?” 

“You know I will not tell you that, Harry. Why would I ruin the secret?” 

Harry snorted. “I need to go back. My friends are there. Draco.” 

Dumbledore smiled at him. “Your capacity to love has always impressed me, Harry. Watching you grow up, opposite sides of the same war, I would never have imagined you falling in love with Draco Malfoy.” 

“He’s… he’s not what I thought he was. He’s…” 

“He’s what he has been allowed to become, without the influence of the dark.” 

Harry nodded. “He’s still a jerk though.” 

Dumbledore chuckled. 

“Tell me one last thing, sir?” 

“Of course, Harry.” 

“Is this all happening in my head, or is it real?” 

Dumbledore beamed at him, and then mist descended around them. 

“Of course it’s happening in your head, Harry. But why on earth would that mean it isn’t real?” 

… 

He was lying face down on the ground again, but this time, the smell of the forest filled his nose and twigs and branches stuck into him where he’d landed. He didn’t move, barely breathed as he listened for a sign of what was happening around him. 

“My Lord… _my Lord_ …” 

It was Bellatrix’s voice he heard first, and he was curious about the terror and worry evident in her tone. 

“That will do,” Voldemort said, high and cold. 

There were footsteps, people moving around close to the fire. 

“The boy… is he dead?” 

There was silence in the clearing. Nobody approached Harry, but he could feel their eyes as though they were burning into his skin, trying to work out if he was, in fact, dead. 

“You,” said Voldemort. “Examine him. Tell me whether he’s dead.” 

Harry didn’t know who had been sent to verify. His heart pounded, traitorous in its volume. 

The leaves shifted close by, and he felt someone kneeling beside him. Hands, softer than Harry would have expected, touched his neck. A sharp intake of breath followed, and Harry tried his best to remain still, unflinching at the touch. 

“Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?” 

The whisper was barely audible, and Harry had to force himself not to tense in shock. Lucius’ hair grazed his ear where he’d leant over him, blocking him from view.

“Yes,” Harry breathed out, barely audible, but apparently enough if Lucius’ gentle squeeze was any indication. 

“He is dead,” Lucius announced to the watchers. 

Immediately, a roar of approval sounded around the clearing, cheers, jeers, even a few people clapping at the news. 

Still feigning dead, Harry thought he understood. Lucius knew the only way into the castle would be as part of the conquering army. He didn’t care if Voldemort won. Harry wondered if that had happened since Draco left, or since Narcissa was killed. 

“You see?” screeched Voldemort. “Harry Potter is dead by my hand, and no man alive can threaten me now! Crucio!” 

Harry had been expecting it. Of course Voldemort wouldn’t care about sullying a dead body to prove his own strength and power. Harry was lifted in the air by the curse, and he fought with his instincts to remain limp. The pain he’d expected never came. He was thrown once, twice, three times into the air, his glasses flew off, landing in the grass somewhere, but he kept himself floppy and lifeless. 

“Now,” said Voldemort, his glee so clear and audible, “we go to the castle and show them what has become of their _hero_.” 

There was a fresh round of laughter, and after a few moments, Harry felt the ground shake around him. “Carry him,” Voldemort ordered. “He will be nice and easy to see by all in your arms, will he not? Pick up your little friend, Hagrid. Where are his glasses? Fetch his glasses! He must be recognisable.” 

His glasses were slammed on his face, but the enormous hands that picked him up were gentle and as he was cradled in Hagrid’s arms, he could feel them trembling beneath him from the force of his sobs. 

Tears splashed down on him, and still Harry forced himself not to react, though it was considerably harder this time. He wanted nothing more than to tell Hagrid that he was fine, that he was alive and well and still able to bring an end to the madness. 

“Move,” Voldemort ordered. 

Hagrid stumbled forwards, bracketed on each side by rows of Death Eaters, marching their way through the forest towards the castle. 

Voldemort led the way, his robes sweeping over the grass of the grounds, collecting the odd leaf and twig along the way. 

Finally, the procession slowed, and Harry almost flinched when Voldemort’s voice rang out. He could tell from the volume that it was once more being projected into the castle, and this close, it threatened to burst his ear drums. 

“Harry Potter is dead! He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself as you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone.

“The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eater’s outnumber you and the Boy Who Lived is _finished._ There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist with be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. 

“Come out of the castle and kneel before me and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together.” 

There was silence in the grounds, but the thundering of many footsteps approaching from inside the castle could be heard, growing closer by the second. 

“Come,” Voldemort ordered, and they were moving once more, getting closer to the castle. The came to a halt in front of the castle, the Death Eaters spreading out on either side, creating a line. 

“NO!” 

The scream was worse because he would never have expected such a sound to leave Professor McGonagall’s lips. Close by, Bellatrix cackled loudly and Harry had never hated anyone more than he hated her. 

“No!” 

“ _NO_!” 

“HARRY! HARRY, NO!” 

Hermione and Ron were even worse, and then the scream that left Draco pierced Harry’s heart, shattering it in his chest even as he kept his eyes closed and his body limp. Just a few more minutes, he thought to himself. Just a little bit longer and you can show him you’re alive. 

“SILENCE!” Voldemort screeched, as the crowd got louder and louder, triggered by the screams of those Harry loved the most. There was a bang and a flash and Harry realised he’d had to cast a silencing spell over the crowd. 

“You see?” he said, when it was quiet once more. “Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for his pathetic life!” 

“He beat you!” Ron yelled, and the charm broke, the yelling starting up until a second, more powerful bang silenced them once more. 

“He was killed trying to sneak away,” Voldemort sneered, relishing in his lie. “Killed, while trying to save himself—” 

“You’re a liar!” Draco shouted. 

There was a scuffle and a shout, and another bang, a flash of light. Harry was getting confused and he needed to hear Draco’s voice to know he was okay. 

“You dare challenge me, Draco Malfoy,” Voldemort hissed. “You dare face me after betraying me? 

“Yes,” Draco replied, voice pained. “Yes, I dare, because you lie! Harry would never run away from you, he’s a better man that you could ever hope to be!” 

“Avada—” 

“NO!” Harry shouted, diving out of Hagrid’s arms, but he was too late. 

“—Kedavra,” Voldemort snarked, and there was a flash of green, and Draco was laying unmoving on the ground. 

Even as Voldemort screamed his rage at Harry’s sudden return to life, Lucius Malfoy was screaming in pain as he stumbled towards his dead son. 

“YOU BASTARD!” Harry screamed, wand in hand as he faced off against Voldemort. 

Around them, the Death Eaters and the Defenders of Hogwarts watched on as the two stared one another down. Rage funnelled through Harry, his fury that this man had taken yet another person away from him fueling the power he needed. 

“Expelliarmus,” he growled, even as Voldemort shot the killing curse his way. 

Their spells met in the middle, and then Voldemort’s was rebounding, both spells heading for him before he could think to dodge or block. They hit him square in the chest, and he fell backwards, almost in slow motion, as the Elder Wand sailed through the air between them, straight into Harry’s outstretched hand. 

Harry waited long enough to ensure that he was down, that he wasn’t getting up again, before he fell to his knees and crawled to Draco’s side, stroking the blond strands of hair from his face. 

“You weren’t supposed to die before I could kiss you,” he whispered, tears falling down his cheeks, splashing down onto Draco’s chest. “You weren’t supposed to die before I could tell you I loved you.” 

Battles were being fought around him, the defenders of Hogwarts dominating the Death Eaters as they all flailed without orders from their master. Harry ignored the commotion. 

He sat on the dirty ground beside Draco and he stroked his cheek, and he cried for the love he’d lost before he even got to have it. 

… 

Funerals. 

Harry hated funerals. 

Despite the amount of people he’d lost in his admittedly short life, he’d never been to a funeral before. Two weeks after the battle of Hogwarts, and he prayed he’d never have to go to another one again. 

Parades of people wearing black. Cheeks streaked with tears and eyes rimmed with red. Solemnly spoken words, often droned by people who’d never even met the person they were talking about.

Ron and Hermione flanked Harry at every single funeral for those that had died at the battle. They’d tried to talk him out of going to some of them, but he couldn’t. If nothing else, he owed them his presence at the ceremonies that celebrated their lives. 

Once the last one, Colin Creevey (and seriously, that coffin is too small), was over, and Harry floundered without a purpose. 

Kingsley spoke to him about trials for the Death Eaters, and Professor McGonagall spoke to him about the rebuilding of the school, and Ron and Hermione tried to talk him into eating and socialising like a normal seventeen year old, but he just didn’t care for any of it. 

He wanted Draco. 

He wanted sarcasm and warm hands on his scalp. He wanted dry words and quirky smirks and unimpressed looks. He wanted the man who was never afraid to call him on his shit, the one who could make him forget the bad stuff, if only for a few hours. 

The Resurrection Stone sat in his bedside draw in Grimmauld Place. Taunting him. His fingers itched to pull it out, to turn it thrice just to hear Draco call him an idiot, but he resisted. 

The Cloak hung untouched in his wardrobe, hung there by Kreacher and left there by Harry. 

The Elder Wand had been placed back where it belonged, with Dumbledore. Harry wanted no part of the world’s most powerful wand. He’d never wanted that kind of pressure, that kind of responsibility. 

_Master of Death, my arse_ , he thought to himself. 

He was lying on his back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. It was how he spent most of his nights now, unable to sleep and without distraction. 

If he really was the Master of Death, he should be able to _order_ Death to give Draco back. 

“Death, give me Draco back, immediately,” he said to the empty room, entirely unsurprised when silence met his words. 

He banged his head back against the pillow, shuffling slightly to get comfortable. It was going to be another long night. 

… 

The Manor was huge. Harry couldn’t imagine what it must have been like, growing up in such a place. Of course, since he’d spent much of his childhood in an actual cupboard, the difference was almost too much to believe. 

Surprisingly, the gates faded at his touch, and he slipped onto the sloping path to the front door. When he reached it, Lucius stood waiting for him, eyeing him with equal measures of curiosity and suspicion. 

“What are you doing here, Mr Potter?” 

Harry swallowed. “I… I was hoping I could… I thought maybe you might have some information I could use.” 

Lucius raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow at him but stepped back to allow him entrance. He was led to a study, and gestured into a comfortable chair. Surprising Harry, Lucius sat facing him, instead of on the opposite side of the desk. 

A house elf popped into the room with a teatray, smiling nervously at Harry before he popped away again. 

“Do refrain from freeing this one, won’t you, Potter?” 

“So long as you treat this one better than you did Dobby, sure,” Harry agreed flatly. Gone were the days of him being intimidated by Lucius Malfoy. 

“Why are you here?” 

“I know you must know about the Deathly Hallows, since Draco knew about them,” Harry said, his fingers tapping out a calming rhythm on his inner wrist. “But how much do you know about them?” 

“They are a fool’s errand,” Lucius replied immediately, looking somewhat disappointed. Harry wondered what the man thought he was there for when he’d allowed him in. “A child’s story, to emphasise the perils of greed.” 

“Right,” Harry agreed. “But I’m talking about the Hallows, not The Tale Of The Three Brothers.” 

“If you’ve merely come here to display ignorance and idiocy then—” 

“They’re real, Mr Malfoy,” Harry interrupted. “Real, and, as the story says, the one to unite the Hallows is the Master of Death.” 

“Let me guess, you’ve united them?” 

Harry stared at him and amused himself watching the colour drain slowly from the older man’s face. 

Lucius shook his head. “Of course you have. You’re Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived To Do The Bloody Impossible.” 

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at the disgusted look on Lucius’ face. It was reminiscent of the way Draco looked at him when he was being particularly idiotic. 

“If you’ve already become the Master of Death, Potter, what do you need me for?” 

“I thought, if anyone I knew that wouldn’t attempt to kill me on sight, would be able to help me, it would be you. Draco told me of your family library.” 

“Oh, he did, did he?” 

“Yes.” 

“When on earth would he have had time to do that?” 

Harry rolled his eyes. “Draco was with me for almost a year,” he said, watching Lucius’ eyes widen. “When he ran from Voldemort—” Lucius flinched wildly “—he came to Grimmauld Place, where Ron, Hermione and I were hiding.” 

“How did he enter the house?” 

“I believe Snape shared the secret of the address with him after Dumbledore died,” Harry replied quietly. “Somewhere for him to hide, should he have need. Which, clearly, he did. Anyway, from there, he became…” 

Lucius looked away awkwardly. “Did the two of you…?” 

“No,” Harry admitted honestly. “But I would have, if we’d had more time. I love your son, Mr Malfoy.” 

To his credit, Lucius merely nodded. 

“Anyway, Draco was with us from then onwards, and he… he saved my life on quite a few occasions to be honest. Regardless, he told me one night that his favourite place in the manor was the library, that it held more books than one could read in a lifetime. I had hoped that you might have a book or three with a way to summon Death.” 

“You want to summon Death?” 

“Yes.” 

“For what purpose?” 

“I want to exchange the Deathly Hallows for his life.” 

… 

What followed, was one of the strangest weeks of Harry’s life. 

He spent days sitting in companionable silence with Lucius Malfoy of all people, pouring over stacks and stacks of books. 

He watched as the man, confined to the Manor without the use of his magic until his trial, despair over not being able to do the simplest of things without magic. 

He drank an inordinate amount of tea, fetched by Tolry, Lucius’ new house elf. 

And he slowly but surely drove himself mad with frustration at finding absolutely nothing that would help him in his quest to bring Death to him, in order to offer up the deal that might just breathe life back into Draco. 

“It’s a shame,” Lucius pondered on the sixth evening, “that you cannot access the veil in the Department of Mysteries. That is the point where life and death are at their closest, their most vulnerable crossing point.” 

Harry frowned. “Who said I _can’t_ get to the veil?” 

“Potter, they don’t just let anyone into the Department of Mysteries,” Lucius replied, rolling his eyes. 

“Well, not just anyone can break into Gringotts either, but guess who did that,” Harry replied dryly. “Are you saying that the veil is the key?” 

“Well, obviously. If you could get to the veil, you would be able to summon Death simply by holding onto the Hallows and calling for him. He would undoubtedly answer the call if you stood before him with such treasure on your person.” 

Harry nodded. “Good plan. I’ll do that.” 

“Just like that?” 

Harry shrugged. “Sure.” 

Lucius sagged back into his armchair. “Perhaps there is something to be said for the idiocy of a Gryffindor.” 

“Courage,” Harry corrected lightly. 

“If you bring my son back to me, then maybe I’ll agree with you.” 

…

The cloaked figure moved a skeletal hand, and the wand, the stone and the cloak all hovered in the air around Harry for a moment before they drifted over to Death, disappearing as they touched the sleeve of his outstretched hand. 

Beside him, a flash, and there Draco stood, staring at Harry with his eyebrow raised. 

“You’re a dramatic shit, Harry Potter,” he grumbled. 

Despite his words, his arms were already outstretched when Harry stumbled towards him, and he embraced him as Harry reached him, holding him close to his chest. 

“I warned you about doing things to make me grey,” Draco said quietly. “First you disappear from the Hall, then you play dead, and then, you summon Death himself just to demand me back. I won’t be surprised if all of my blond is gone when I look in the mirror.” 

“Your hair is perfect, you berk,” Harry replied, his voice muffled against Draco’s neck. “And of course I demanded you back. As if you thought I wouldn’t.” 

When Harry finally pulled back, it was to find them alone, no sign that Death had ever been there. 

“Let’s get out of here,” Draco murmured, looking over his shoulder at the veil that fluttered gently on the platform. “This place gives me the creeps.” 

Harry nodded. “What was it like?” 

“It was, it was,” Draco frowned. “It was… white, apparently. I… don’t remember anything. I don’t even know how long it’s been?” 

“Almost a month,” Harry whispered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t… I had no idea how to even summon Death, let alone how to demand he bring you back and I—” 

“Hush,” Draco murmured. “How are we going to explain to people that I’m magically alive after a month of being dead?” 

“Well. See, the thing is, there’s been no public funeral. Your father moved your body pretty much immediately, and then, he laid you to rest at the Manor. So.” 

“People saw me hit with the killing curse, Harry.” 

“Yeahhh, but people also saw that Voldemort’s spells weren’t holding and weren’t very strong. So. Maybe the killing curse only knocked you out, but your father didn’t say anything in case you died?” 

Draco blinked. “That’s stupid enough that it might actually work.” 

“Uh huh,” Harry agreed. “So. Let’s head over to the Manor. Pretty sure your father is literally bouncing off the walls waiting to find out if this worked or not so—” 

“You’ve been speaking to my father?” 

“He saved my life, in the forest. He lied to Voldemort, simply so that he could get to the castle, to you. I knew if anyone would help me, it would be him.” 

“How is he not in Azkaban?” 

“I told Kingsley about the forest and he put Lucius on house arrest until the trial. He’s not allowed to use magic either.” 

“Dear Lord. How has he even survived this long? Does he even know how to get dressed without magic?” 

Harry laughed. “He’s not quite that useless without magic.” 

Draco gave him a look that said he absolutely did not believe him and it was so quintessentially Draco, that Harry actually choked on a sob. 

Draco rolled his eyes but tugged Harry into his side. “Daft sod.” 

“Oh,” Harry said, pulling Lucius’ wizard made invisibility cloak from his pocket. “Here. To get you out of here. Can’t be seen yet, right?” 

Draco stared at him for a long moment, before he tugged him close and pressed their lips together. It was a soft kiss, gentle and more a statement of intent than anything else.

When they parted, Draco smiled wickedly. “I’d be grey of old age if I waited for you to get the balls to finally kiss me.” 

Harry huffed out a breath. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll have turned you grey with my penchant for trouble long before that.” 

**…**

**19 Years Later**

**…**

Kings Cross never failed to bring a smile to Harry’s face. Passing through the barrier onto platform nine and three quarters always made him remember the awe he’d felt, all those years ago when he’d first learned his heritage. 

He looked around for a sign of red hair, but a voice in the crowd called out to him instead, and he turned, grinning wildly when he saw a little boy waving at him. 

“Uncle Harry!” 

Ron looked around at Hugo’s excited exclamation to see Harry weaving his way through the crowd towards them. 

“Hey!” He greeted, sharing a brief hug with his best friend before Hugo pounced on his godfather. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t due back until next week?” 

Harry grinned sheepishly, and Draco came up behind him, answering, “I couldn’t cope with his pouting about not being here to see Hugo off for his first year at Hogwarts. I cut the trip short.” 

Ron laughed, the sound catching Hermione’s attention. She squeaked with delight, hugging Harry and then Draco tightly. 

“Uncle Draco! Uncle Harry!” 

Rose came running over, her robes already flapping around her ankles. 

“Eager to get back to school, Rosie?” Harry asked, smiling at her as he leant down to hug her. 

She nodded as he passed her over to Draco. 

“So, how was Africa?” Hermione asked, looking eager to draw all the details from them. 

“We’ll tell you over dinner?” Draco suggested. 

Hermione nodded, and Ron shrugged. “Sure thing. I’ll book a table at that new restaurant in Diagon Alley on my way into work.” 

The warning whistle sounded and all around them, kids were being herded onto the train by harassed looking parents, many of them shouting about forgotten items and issuing warnings to behave. 

It made Harry smile. 

Rose and Hugo hugged them all once more, and climbed onto the train, standing by the window so they could wave. 

“Hey, Draco?” Ron asked, as the train moved out of sight. 

“Hmm?” 

“You’ve got a little… grey. Just…” he pointed to Draco’s temple. 

Draco nodded and then shrugged. “I married Harry Potter. I always knew I’d go grey young.” 


End file.
